To Sleep is an Act of Faith
by Laoise
Summary: The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving, can an unsuspecting muggle help? Rating may be subject to change
1. Chapter 1

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I can't claim ownership to this until I take over the world with my gingerbread men army and steal JK's brain, but that won't happen till sometime next year so until then – not mine.

**Author's Notes:** This is quite possibly the most random plot line ever so I'm just keeping my fingers firmly crossed that it will work. You might have to bear with me for a bit while it gets going, but hopefully then it'll be OK! This is also where I get to flash my 'First Fic' card and look sweet and innocent – please be nice! All comments welcome – help me improve!

Chapter One

It was seven o'clock on Thursday morning and Father Damien Moore was making his way through the streets of Limerick, following his usual route to St Michaels Church where he was currently based, and had been so for more than a few years now. Damien was not an old man, yet he could no longer call himself young either. He was happy with what he had achieved in life, and was thankful to God for helping him get to where he was in the world. The dark haired priest had prominent features, but his face was kind and welcoming. He was of medium build and a modest height at five foot eleven.

As usual Damien bumped into Mrs Thwaytes on his way down Lifford Avenue, after seven years of this habit, he had come to think that the elderly lady made a point of being there every morning just so she could give him an update on the wellbeing of her cats. He greeted her warmly and learned that Tabitha had taken a tumble and was currently being looked over by the vets, but it looked like she was going to be okay. Wishing Mrs Thwaytes the best for her day, Damien crossed over the road and walked through the iron gates to Clarey Park. The park wasn't much more than a large area of grass with a path cutting through the centre, some public benches and several trees. But despite the park's seemingly unremarkable appearance, it was well used by members of the surrounding community for everything from somewhere to walk the dog or entertain the children, to snowball fights in winter and picnics in summer.

While crossing the place Father Damien had become fond of during his time in Limerick, he saw a sight that had become almost as regular as Mrs Thwaytes' morning meetings. There was a boy sitting on a bench in the far corner of the square area, a tall oak tree towered above him and caused the early morning sun to cast a dappled light on his hunched body. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his head resting atop them. His hair was jet black and fell messily around his face, accentuating his pale complexion and drawn features. Damien had first seen the boy around a month ago, sitting on that same bench. He had then appeared on and off ever since, but only recently had he started to sit there every day, and often now he was still there when Damien returned home in the evening. The boy's shabby and miserable appearance had been worrying Damien for some time now, he always sat alone and was never seen doing anything other than looking solemnly forward into thin air. The priest assumed the boy was at least sixteen as he did not appear to attend any school, and yet his diminutive stature would suggest he was younger. Looking over at the boy as he stared mournfully into space, as if seeing terrible things that caused him great hurt, yet were not visible to others, Damien made the decision that if he saw the child again, he would go and speak with him. Making up his mind, he quickened his pace, crossing the park and walking the short distance to the church.

When Father Damien returned to his home that night, he realised he had failed to notice if the strange boy was present in the park that evening. Feeling a little disappointed in himself, he made a firm pact to act the next morning. The reason for his distraction was some news he had received that day, some very good news he had been waiting an obscene amount of time to hear. After almost eight years of applying to his superiors, he had been granted use of the old priests' apartment within St Michaels Church. This meant he was much closer to the people and the God whom he served, and he was happy. Damien Moore went to bed that night, a contented man.

Four blocks away from Damien's flat, a skinny boy with messy jet black hair wandered the frigid streets, looking for somewhere suitable to rest up for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K (may change)

**Disclaimer: **The gingerbread men are coming along nicely but aren't yet ready for the invasion, so as of now – still not mine.

**Author's Notes:** Wow! Congrats if you're still reading and haven't given up on me yet – thank you!

Chapter Two

Damien's alarm clock went off at half past six, Friday morning. He ate a hurried breakfast and set off to St Michaels. Although it was a Friday and there would be no service at the church, he knew he would still have a busy day before him, what with his other duties, and of course the need to keep the church in good condition. Damien had no one to help him with the upkeeping of the church, and no funding to pay anybody to come in and do it. He would have asked someone from higher up in the Church if a helper could be employed, but as they had just granted him use of the old domestic apartment at St Michaels, he thought it wise to wait before asking for more. Not that he was complaining, much. He rushed out the door and started his journey to the church, popping into the corner shop on the way to pick up a sandwich for his lunch.

Half way down Lifford Avenue he bumped into Mrs Thwaytes (Tabitha was doing fine but would need to wear a bandage on her leg for a while), and then turned to cross over the road and enter Clarey Park. Looking over to the far corner of Clarey, Damien was not surprised to see a small boy sitting beneath a large oak tree, his knees drawn up to his chest, his face devoid of expression. Damien slowed his pace; he had made up his mind to talk to the boy, and yet needed to open up the church for any early risers. He decided to go on his way for now, and return to speak to the boy during his lunch, hoping that the child didn't disappear during the day. He was later glad of his decision, as Geraldine O'Meara's daughter had been taken ill, and Father Moore had been required to make a home visit.

Sometime early in the afternoon, Damien returned to the church, picked up his meal, and made his way over to Clarey. Walking through the gates on St Michaels' side of the park, he saw, as expected, the boy was sitting just as he had been when Damien had seen him that morning. The priest considered the possibility, the probability in fact, that the child had not moved an inch all day, and wondered what the boy's story was, and how he had ended up sitting on a bench, alone, in Clarey Park.

The boy was not the only one in the square patch of land that afternoon. Two mothers sat, each nursing a baby, chatting subduedly, and a group of teenagers sat laughing and talking, all of them wearing the uniform of the local comprehensive. Smiling at the two women as he passed them, Damien walked over to the lone child. As he approached, the boy did not once stir or look up. When he reached the place where he was seated, Damien spoke softly and kindly, "Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you a while?" The boy raised his face and looked at him. When he did, Damien felt as if he had been physically slapped. The boy's eyes were a startling, almost luminous green, and within them there was so much sorrow and suffering, that Damien had to fight the urge to gasp. The boy looked at him searchingly, as if sizing him up, and after what seemed like an age, he jerked his head stiffly upwards, signalling that Damien could sit.

From his new vantage point, Damien could see the toll the world had obviously taken on the boy. He could see his spine and several ribs through the worn shirt he was wearing, and his calloused hands, wrapped around his ankles, seemed to be nothing more than bones. There were dark circles under his eyes and his lips were chapped and swollen. The boy sat still beside him for some time, moving only when the priest went in his bag and drew out his lunch. The boy looked at he food quietly for a second, and then, as if coming to his senses, snapped his head around, and once again rested his head on his knees.

Damien spoke tentatively, "When was the last time you ate anything?" The boy looked defiantly ahead and avoided the priest's gaze. Correctly guessing what Damien's next move would be, he said tonelessly, "I don't accept charity". His voice sounded as if it scraped the back of the back of his throat, and it was apparent that he hadn't spoken in some time. Damien considered the statement quietly, he had first planned on giving up all of his lunch without a second glance, but it seemed that the boy's pride might prevent that. So quietly, he ate half of his ham sandwich and a bag of crisps, leaving him with the remaining half and a bottle of flavoured water, he set them down on the bench beside him.

Turning to the boy he said, "My name is Father Damien, if ever you need anything, I'm over at the church," pointing out of the park an over to the church. The boy stared at him stilly for a moment, and then nodded very slowly, whispering a quiet 'thank you'. Smiling sincerely, Damien stood, leaving the food and drink, and walked out of Clarey Park.

As the man left, the boy turned to the food. However small the offering, he hated to accept anything for nothing. It was a full hour before he gave in to the terrible ache of his stomach, and ate.

When Father Damien returned home that night, the boy was nowhere to be seen.


	3. Chapter 3

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I've run out of milk at the mo so the baking isn't going so well – looks like I'm gonna have to wait a bit longer till it's mine!

**Author's Notes:** Something I probably should have mentioned earlier on – Sirius didn't die (JK was just having a bad day when she wrote that). In this chapter we get to see what's happening back with the Order and find out a bit about what's going on with Harry – enjoy!

This chapter is dedicated to Lady Prince (my first reviewer), thank you so much!!

Chapter Three

Several hundred miles away from Damien Moore's flat, a group of tired looking men sat around a long wooden table in a dimly lit room. It was late and Number Twelve Grimauld Place was quiet. Only six people remained awake, all of them sitting together in the large kitchen.

"It pains me greatly to say it, but I think we have explored every possible avenue in this matter, and after all of the dead ends we have encountered, I fear that only one possibility remains. Harry is either dead or beyond our reach." Albus Dumbledore's face was weary as he said this, and his eyes were sorrowful. He had been very fond of the boy, and upset him deeply to have to give up on him, but they had done everything they could. The expression he wore was shared by all but one of his companions.

"No! There was no body, so he's not dead! We have to keep looking!" was the enraged reply that came from one man. Sirius Black refused point blank to even consider the possibility that his Godson might have perished during his last confrontation with Lord Voldemort. When the Order had reached the chamber where the Dark Lord had held Harry captive during the final battle, they found nought but the cold body of their enemy. The only sign that Harry had been there was the fact that Voldemort was well and truly dead.

Nobody could explain what had happened to the boy, but the Order immediately began to search. Now, nearing two months on, nearly all had given up hope of ever finding their saviour, dead or alive. Harry's disappearance was most likely due to the massive explosion of power used by the boy to kill his nemesis. Such anomalies had been known, in the past, to cause strange side effects. Some people believed that the magic must have consumed him, killing him quickly and engulfing his body, leaving behind no trace of his presence. But just as possible was the chance that he had simply been transported away from Voldemort's lair. The problem with this was that he could be anywhere, and as Harry did not have his wand, there was no way of locating him.

"Sirius," came the calm voice of Remus Lupin, "we really need to accept that the chances of us ever finding out what happened to Harry are very slim." His face was composed as he said it, yet the sadness he felt showed through in his eyes. "But you admit there's a chance," Sirius retorted defiantly, "and while there is a chance, I will not give up hope, and I will not stop looking. Who of you will help me?"

Remus and Albus remained set in their expressions. Sirius turned to the three people who had yet to give their opinion on the matter. Arthur Weasley had been hit hard by the death of the boy he had considered a son, as had the rest of his family. He and his eldest son now sat at the Black kitchen table. They stared levelly at Sirius, and Bill said a quiet 'sorry'. "Fat lot of good you are." Sirius said heatedly, "Harry thought of you as his family, and you just give up on him!"

Sirius turned warily to the last person in the room, hardly daring to look hopeful. After seemingly hating Harry Potter for the past six years, Severus Snape had been surprisingly helpful in the search for the boy. When asked why he was so eager to find Harry, he would, without fail, sneer and say something unconvincing about how he hadn't yet had the chance to punish the boy for not killing the Dark Lord sooner. However now, he too believed that there was no longer a chance of finding the boy alive.

Sirius looked at Snape, his eyes begging. "No. He's dead Black. You need to accept it." Sirius stood up violently, knocking his chair so it clattered to the floor, and stalked off. The five remaining men looked at each others' tired faces, and without another word said, made their way back to their homes and their beds.

Back in Limerick, the cause of the men's worries was stalking the dark streets of the city he was now beginning to think of as his home. Harry Potter was a fast learner and he already knew the ways of the streets. He was careful to stay only in the area he knew was his to be in. That was rule number one – stick to your own territory. Harry had learnt that particular lesson three weeks ago when he had unwittingly wandered into a neighbourhood 'owned' by a particularly savage gang of street kids. He could still feel some of the bruises they had left on his body. On some level this pleased Harry. He took a kind of morbid pleasure in the pain inflicted in his beating, he felt he deserved it, it was his punishment.

In the months leading up to Voldemort's defeat, Harry had been treated to nightly visions of the Dark Lord's playtimes. The boy had been and unwilling observer as children were tortured, mothers were raped, and fathers were forced to watch. Harry carried every single scream, every death, with him on his conscience. _He_ was the one who could have been out there killing Voldemort, the one who could have been preventing the pain. But the Order kept telling him they had to wait for the right moment to strike, when Voldemort was unsuspecting, and the Light's forces were strong.

But it seemed the 'right moment' had been stolen from them, as was Harry. He was viciously snatched from within the Hogwarts grounds by a large group of Death Eaters, and taken to Voldemort's hiding place in Northern Wales. It had taken the Order three weeks to locate the large Manor house, as Severus Snape had shown himself to be a spy during the kidnapping, when he had tried to prevent Harry from being taken, and the Light no longer had a spy on the inside.

Harry relived those three weeks constantly in his nightmares. He knew that the life he was living was nothing compared to the one that awaited him if he returned to the Order. He knew he could be a hero. And that was exactly what prevented him from returning. He was not the saviour of the wizarding world, that would have actually required saving people, and he knew that thousands had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his followers, he had seen it. He was also angry with the people whom he had once called his friends. They had prevented him from acting sooner, from saving those people. They had stopped him from getting out there and making a difference, kept him cooped in a school where he was 'safe'. Well that plan hadn't worked. They had left him to rot in the chambers of the most evil man known to wizardkind. The memories of what he had endured during that time made him retch.

Harry stopped beside a large dumpster. He had been astounded when he first realised just how much perfectly good food was thrown away just because it got dropped or was a day or two past its best before date. Even so it was slim pickings for Harry and he was constantly hungry; but that wasn't something that particularly bothered him. He had been trained to live on as little food as possible by the Dursleys ever since he was a baby. He did however, feel slight repulsion at being forced to eat from the bins, he hated the level he had dropped to. But it wasn't enough to force him back to England. The past few days had been particularly bad food-wise for Harry, and he had started to feel somewhat weak. Although the sandwich he had eaten that afternoon had helped greatly, and was a welcome change to leftovers.

The man who had given him the food confused Harry slightly; he was a priest, so Harry wasn't particularly surprised that he wanted to help, although the way he acted around Harry puzzled the boy slightly. The reaction he had gotten from people over the past weeks had never been a positive one; they either looked down on him, or pitied him. This man did neither. He seemed concerned for Harry's welfare, and yet he respected the boy as another human being.

Harry wondered if returning to the park the next day would look as if he were asking for more. He hoped not, and if the man interpreted it that way, he would have to set him right. For a moment he considered just not returning to the park, but he didn't want to have to do that. He liked it there. He could simply sit and watch the world go by, or just sit and watch nothing. It gave him time to think, and no one seemed to bother him when he sat beneath the oak, he was invisible; to everyone except this priest it seemed. He preferred it like that, he liked to blend in. It had been that way before he had discovered he was a wizard. The Dursleys may not have been at all nice to him, but at least they didn't constantly watch and bother him. He hated all the attention he had attracted in the wizarding world, being recognised at every turn.

He had seen a couple of women walking though Clarey whom he suspected were witches (they never could hide it very well), but they didn't recognise him. Why should they? He assumed he was widely assumed to be dead, and even if this was incorrect, he had changed a lot recently. His hair had grown longer, falling over his scar, which had faded to a shining white since the death of Voldemort, but was still visible if you looked closely. He looked considerably rougher after having lived on the streets for some time now, and he no longer needed his glasses. No one else knew this. Voldemort had done it, corrected his vision, explaining to the boy how he didn't want such ugly things defiling his pet. Just the thought of this sent a wave of nausea through Harry. When he had been captured, he had expected to be killed, that was what he thought Voldemort wanted – him dead. He was wrong; death was the last thing Voldemort wanted from Harry

Pulling his mind away from that subject, he began to rummage around in the dumpster, his lips twisting into a perverted smile at the thought of what his 'friends' would think if they could see him now.


	4. Chapter 4

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I came home yesterday to find my little sister had eaten my ENTIRE army – I was mortified! I'm gonna have to start completely from scratch now, but never fear! JK's empire _will _be mine – just not yet.

**Author's Notes:** Ok so I know there's not _that _much plot action in this one, but it's on its way – don't worry! Please tell me what you think, good or bad – its all good to me!

Chapter Four

Damien was in a good mood when he got ready to leave for the church on Saturday morning. He had no meetings planned for the day, and was looking forward to some time spent writing his sermon for the next day; and preparing the domestic apartment for him to move into. He was planning to move soon, sometime over the next few weeks. Grabbing a book off the shelf in his living room, he considered whether he would need to contact a removals company to help him move his things to the church. He decided, as he closed the front door, that it probably wasn't necessary. He would be leaving most of his furniture behind, as the new apartment was already fitted out with the basics, and his other possessions were small in numbers.

He exchanged a few friendly words with Mrs Thwaytes (on her way to but cat food), and hurried on his way. As he entered Clarey Park, he looked eagerly over to the oak in the far corner, hoping to see the boy. Sure enough, he was there. Damien considered fleetingly whether he had come back in the hope of being fed again, but quashed the thought almost immediately. The child hadn't wanted to accept the food in the first place, and he came to the park every day – even without the promise of something to eat. He kept watching the boy as he crossed the park, hoping to catch his eye. But the child did not look up from his regular stance, head lying on his knees.

As Damien crossed the next road and headed for the church, his thoughts stayed with the odd child. He wanted to know how he came to be here, but didn't want to push the boy, who seemed to be very introvert, and appeared to want to keep himself to himself. He got out his keys and opened the large wooden doors to the church foyer. He entered the main chamber and admired his surroundings. Even after several years of seeing the church every day, it could still take his breath away. There was no need to turn on any lights as the sunlight shone through the stained glass windows, bathing the church in an ethereal light.

Damien's morning was nowhere near as quiet as he had hoped, several people came to speak with him and ask for his advice on certain matters, and he had an unexpected visit from a man who work in a publishing company who wanted to sell the Church new hymn books. So when it got to midday, he had not done any work in and around the church and hadn't even started on his sermon.

He had once spoken to a young boy who attended Sunday School at St Michaels, who had told him that he had the best job in the world, because he only had to work on Sundays. He still laughed at the memory, how wrong a child could be. Damien was worried by the number of chores that desperately needed to be done around the church, and felt overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it. Things were really starting to build up, and if wasn't careful, they would overflow. He needed to find some help.

However, he didn't want it to interfere with his plans for the afternoon, he wanted to write his sermon, so after eating a quick lunch, he grabbed his notes and the blue covered book he had picked up that morning, and exited the church. It was late August, the weather was perfect, and he had no intention to stay inside on such a beautiful day. Not to mention, this was a good chance to kill two birds with one stone.

He entered Clarey Park and turned to head over to the big oak. As he predicted, the boy was sitting on his bench. His face was turned to watch a group of young children who were playing tag at the other side of the park. As Damien approached, the boy twisted and faced him. The priest said a pleasant 'hello', and the boy nodded, acknowledging his presence. Damien sat, and made a start on his sermon.

Some time later, adding the finishing touches, he glanced at his watch. Realising ha had been in the park for almost two hours; he put away his things and turned to the boy. The children had a ball now and were playing piggy-in-the-middle. The boy still gazed at them, his face giving away nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. Therefore Damien was startled when he spoke, "They look so innocent." The priest considered this for a moment and then replied, "People are nearly never innocent, even when so young". The boy turned to him and smiled slightly, "Yes." Sensing that they had understood each other, Damien stood. The boy rested his head back on his knees and said, "Goodbye Father Moore." "Goodbye child, and God bless."

Damien stood, and slowly made his way back over to the church. As he walked away, Harry noticed a blue covered book on the bench beside him. From the looks of it, it was very well read. He hesitated slightly, but then shrugged and reached out, picking it up. He flipped it over; the title was written in playful writing, plastered colourfully over the front cover. It read: '…and that was when the fat lady started singing'. Frowning slightly, Harry opened the book, curiosity taking over, and flicked straight to the page marked 'Chapter One'.

When Damien walked through Clarey Park that evening, the boy was not there. The man stepped off the path and went over to the bench under the oak. The book was not there either. He still wasn't sure if he had done the right thing, he didn't know how best to communicate with the boy. The book was a long shot, and he hoped it wouldn't scare the boy off. It was something he had first read in college, at a time when he had no clue where he was going with his life. It was about a group of seven

Dysfunctional teenagers, who all believed their lives had reached a point where there wasn't much point anymore. They all banded together, and set off on a mad journey through life, trying to find a purpose. The overall storyline was pretty clichéd, but the book was well written and very funny. Damien hoped that it would have a similar effect on the boy as it had had on him all those years ago, and if it didn't, maybe it would at least serve to take the child's mind off whatever it was that seemed to haunt him. Feeling hopeful, he continued home.


	5. Chapter 5

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer:** eurgh, still not mine, not yet anyways.

**Author's Notes:** Oooh, some _Hermione_ action in this one – shock horror! Is it good? Is it bad? TELL ME!!! (please)

Chapter Five

Harry had reached chapter eight of the priest's book before the ache in his stomach took over and he left Clarey to find something to eat. He had been shocked by the book; it would appear that it was possible for a member of the clergy to have a sense of humour! Although it was a happy surprise that the book turned out to be funny, it had caused some problems for Harry earlier in the afternoon, when he had literally laughed out loud, and got some terribly odd looks from the other people who were in Clarey at the time. But he didn't care, it just felt good to have a reason to smile again.

Now, as Harry wandered the sleeping streets, his thoughts returned to Father Moore. He didn't really know that much about him other than that he was a priest, he had good taste in literature, and he was trying to help Harry, albeit in a rather unorthodox way. Harry considered the fact that he was a priest. He would have expected someone of that particular occupation to very straight necked and strict, especially as he was a member of the Catholic Church, who definitely had a reputation for a pretty business-like style.

Harry had never particularly thought about faith in the past, it hadn't really concerned him. He didn't believe in God, and yet he was at all opposed to His existence. Even if He was up there somewhere, there wasn't much chance of Him wanting anything to do with Harry; if ever there was a sinner, it was him. If it hadn't have been for him, both of his parents would be alive today, Cedric would not have died; and if he had only acted sooner, he could have prevented so many pointless deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He had killed, he had allowed innocent people to die, and he had betrayed to Light by allowing himself to be caught by the Death Eaters; and Voldemort… Harry didn't want to think about Voldemort. It was in the past, not that that made it hurt any less. His body was littered with reminders of the pain he encountered in Wales, and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel the knives, still hear his screams.

Shaking his head to dislodge the memory, Harry walked on down the street he was on; book clutched to his chest as if shielding himself, and looked for somewhere to sleep.

He was not the only one trying not to think about Voldemort that night. Hermione Granger had been staying with the Weasley family ever since the end of the war. She couldn't be with her parents, they didn't understand the hardships thrust upon the wizarding world of late, and she desperately needed to be around people who understood.

It should have been a time to rejoice in the defeat of Voldemort and the end of the war, but victory was tarnished by the loss of her best friend. In two days time she would be starting her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and for the first time ever, she would not have Harry at her side. She almost wished Voldemort were alive so she could kill him herself. After the Dark Lord's body had been discovered, Hermione had been optimistic that Harry would be found, and things would go back to normal, better than normal even – no Voldemort. But as the weeks passed, it became clear that Harry was not going to miraculously appear out of the woodwork, and she began to grieve.

It had been even harder she thought, for Harry's other best friend Ron to come to terms with his death, and for a long while he had been in shock and denial, only recently submitting to the fact that his friend was not coming back. Hermione was glad at least, that she and Ron had each other, and they often indulged in their favourite therapy – Harry memories. Thinking of the good times they had had with Harry reminded Hermione that he had at least had some good experiences before the end.

There were never many happy-Harry-memories from the time leading up to the end of the war though. Hermione knew Harry had been plagued with nightmares sent through his scar, and he had been constantly frustrated that he couldn't get out there and help. Hermione often wondered if, had they done things differently and let Harry strike when he wanted to, he would still be alive today. Although she tried not to dwell on the what-ifs.

Ginny stirred on the bed next to hers, and began to snore softly. Hermione sighed, turned over, and tried to get some sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Nup, not mine, yet.

**Author's Notes:** Thank you so much to all my reviewers! 3

Chapter Six

As per usual for a Sunday, Damien got a lift to work with a friend from up the road who helped out with serving communion in the church. She was thrilled to hear the good news about Damien finally being allowed to move into St Michaels, and joked about how she would no longer have anyone to come in and feed the fish while she was away on holiday.

It was a good turnout for Mass and Damien spent time afterwards to chat with people in the congregation. It was therefore getting on for midday before he went into the back room and changed out of his ceremonial robes and into his everyday clothes. He knew he really should get going with some work, but St Michaels was going to have to wait for a while. Damien wanted to go and see what was going on with the boy from the park.

It was as this thought crossed his mind that he realised he didn't know the child's name; he couldn't remain 'the boy from the park' forever. Thinking about this, he walked over to Clarey. As soon as he was through the iron gates he looked keenly over to the boy's bench, and was elated to see him sitting with his legs crossed, a book lying on top of them. The child seemed engrossed, and didn't look up until Damien was standing beside him, and had cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

The boy turned his face up and smiled. Damien beamed back, over the moon to see such an expression on the boys face.

"Can I sit?" he asked.

"Yes," came the simple answer.

"Is it okay then?" Damien asked, eager to hear the boy's opinion.

"Yes." Damien raised his eyebrows, "Anything other than 'yes'?"

The boy blushed slightly, "I mean, yes it's good, it made me laugh."

"I'm very glad to hear it."

"I'm interested to see what you'll leave today," the boy said, grinning slightly.

"Ah, I see you have me sussed." Damien said, returning the smile. "But if there _is_ anything you need, you only have to ask."

The boy's expression darkened and he said tonelessly, "I don't accept charity, the book was a lone, it's different".

"Yes; I've been thinking about that," Damien said, and then hesitated, wondering if he was doing the right thing. _Why not_ he thought, and turned back to the child, "You know I work at the church," it wasn't a question, but the boy nodded anyway, "well at the moment I'm the only one working there, and although it might not seem it, there's a lot to do." He hesitated again, then said, "And… I was wondering, if maybe, you came and helped me out now and then. That way, you would be helping me, and I could help you a bit? What do you think?"

The boy was quiet for several minutes, Damien wondered if he'd overstepped the mark. But the child finally turned to him, looked at him for a moment, and said quietly, "How, exactly, could I help?" Damien almost breathed a sigh of relief at the words. "Well, it's not very glamorous I'm afraid. There's the general upkeep of the church, cleaning and such like; and some other odd jobs like organising the books and making sure the oil and candles don't run down."

The boy seemed amused, "Not very glamorous? You think what I've got now is better?"

"No, I suppose not. But that's the point I'm trying to make I guess, maybe things could be a bit better for you this way. What do you think?"

"I think… I'm good at cleaning." And he smiled. Damien smiled back. "When you like me to start?"

"Well," Damien said, slightly astonished that his offer had been accepted, "Now is as good a time as any I think, unless you have a date with a certain book?" The boy smiled,

"Well, there is that, but I think I could call and postpone it. Now sounds good."

So Damien led the child through the park and up to the church. He was suddenly aware that this was the first time he had seen the child standing up. The boy was perhaps a little shorter than he had first imagined, and even thinner than he had originally thought, if that was possible.

When they entered the church, the boy stopped dead in his tracks. "Wow", he said, observing the vast beauty of St Michaels. "Yeah I know, it does that to people." This caused the boy to smile, and Damien was pleased that he still seemed to be okay, and didn't appear to be overwhelmed by the speed at which he had been recruited by a priest.

"Where would you like me to start?" the boy asked. "How's about I show you around first?"

"OK".

The child was quiet for the most part, only asking the odd practical question here and there. He seemed keen to get started, which surprised Damien slightly, since when had teenagers been eager to clean? He shrugged it off, and showed the child where he could start. And so the boy spent the next few hours cleaning a marble statue of the Virgin Mary. When Damien returned, it was he who was stopped dead in his tracks. "My goodness, I hadn't realised how dirty she was!" He had known the statue had needed cleaning, but now he saw just how white she was compared to before, it was breath taking. The boy smiled and admired his work. He seemed pleased with what he had achieved. And it was quite an achievement.

"You've done really well for an afternoon's work. Can't wait to see what happens when I let you loose on the Saints!" The boy grinned. "Now, it's quite late so I would normally just pick up a take away, how do you feel about pizza?" The look on the boy's face would have been comical if it didn't highlight just how little food he was obviously getting. "Right, I'll take that as a yes. You can just hang around here for a bit if you like, I won't be long."

"Okay" The boy said still looking slightly dazed at the mention of getting some real food. Smiling slightly, Damien set out for the nearest Pizza Hut.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry sat on the floor of St Michael's, at the feet of the Virgin Mary, and ate what must have been the most glorious meal of his life. "I have to admit," he said between mouthfuls, "this is a bit of a surprise. I never envisioned myself eating pizza in a house of the Lord before." Damien grinned as best he could with his mouth full of margarita, swallowing, he replied "It isn't exactly what I thought I'd be doing tonight either."

"OK that's it, if I eat any more I'll burst." Harry said licking his fingers. "Urgh, I know how you feel," Damien agreed, looking in a similar state to Harry. The priest leant against the wall behind him and sighed. The boy had really opened up, and even though Damien knew absolutely nothing factual about the child, he felt he had got to know him a bit better. "So much for Sunday Dinner, I didn't think you'd be the type to have take-away on the holy day." The child said. "But come to think of it I wouldn't have thought you'd be the type to randomly employ people you meet on the streets." And he looked enquiringly over at the priest, Damien saw what was happening.

It seemed he hadn't given the child enough credit. And as he thought back over the conversation they'd had while eating, he realised how clever this boy was. In just half an hour, he had got the priest to completely open up and relax in his presence, and know he was going in for the kill, trying to find out just why exactly the man had taken him in.

"I can assure you, the only reasoning behind my asking you to work around the church was that I wanted to help, and this seemed the best way to do it. That and things here are really starting to get on top of me!" The boy considered this quietly for a moment, he obviously realised that the priest knew what he had done, and still seemed unsure. "Please child, just believe me when I say that I want to help. You seem so very lonely, and I can't stand to see someone in such a way." The boy continued to look at him for a while, and then seemed to relax a little. "Okay."

Damien smiled, he was glad to be slowly gaining the boy's trust.

"Right then!" Damien said, getting up from the floor. He reached a hand down to the boy, who smiled and took it, rising to his feet. The man suddenly realised that he didn't know what to do with the child now; although it was the most likely explanation, he couldn't be sure if the boy was sleeping rough. He didn't want to send the child back to the streets, but if he had a family, however unlikely it was and however badly they must treat him, it was not his place to keep the child here. He frowned.

Harry immediately noticed the expression on the man's face, and guessed what he was thinking. "I have to go then." The boy said hurriedly.

"You do?" Harry nodded. "Sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay then," Damien was still suspicious, but decided to give the boy the benefit of the doubt. "Let's go, I'll lock up on the way out." They agreed to meet in the park the next morning, and exited the church, saying friendly goodbyes. And so the two men departed, Harry being careful to leave in a different direction to the priest.

As Damien walked away, he realised he still hadn't asked the boy his name. Mentally chiding himself, he made a point to do so tomorrow, and went on his way.


	7. Chapter 7

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **HaHa! I have recruited help with my baking (big thanks to dovaly, lol!) and the army is coming on better than ever. Harry Potter _will_ be mine! But for the time being, he still isn't. _damn._

**Author's Notes:** A big thanks to Lady Prince, …and I Feel Fine, Kremit, GenkaiFan, dovaly, Kalistar, and Outkasted-angel09 - all my reviewers to date, you guy keep the story going!

Chapter Seven

Harry walked a couple of streets away from the church, stopped there, and waited for a while. When he was sure Damien would have gone on his way, the boy doubled back on himself. Within a few minutes, he was back in Clarey Park. He knew it was late, and he should find somewhere to sleep, but his mind was full of the things that had happened that day. He walked over to the bench he had come to think of as his own. He would just sit here for a while, all he needed was some time to think, and then he could find somewhere to set down for the night.

He was quite pleased with the arrangement at the church, Harry had always cleaned for Aunt Petunia, and he actually enjoyed it. It was satisfying to do, and he knew that after years of practice he was good at it. He also recognised the fact that his life would be much easier when he had help, his mind still reeled at the thought that ha had eaten actual fresh made pizza, just hours ago. It was a big change from brown fruit and stale bread. Spending time in St Michaels would also give him something to do. He didn't exactly get bored sitting in the park, but it did make him feel a little pointless at times, this way – he had a purpose.

His mind wandered to the priest. Harry had decided to trust him, there didn't seem to be a reason not to, and it felt good to interact with someone again. He considered how he had made the man think he had somewhere to be. Harry was surprised at how guilty he felt about it, he hadn't outright lied, but it seemed just as bad. The man had shown he trusted Harry, and the boy now regretted breaking that trust. But that was the way it had to be, Harry reminded himself. If he had explained how he was sleeping on the streets, the man would probably have made him go to social services and find a hostel. Harry knew he was better off making his own way.

Harry shifted his position on the bench so he was sitting more comfortably, and as he did so, he was reminded of the priest's book, which was still in his hands. The man had said he could keep it for as long as he wanted. Harry was pleased that he was still permitted to read it; it really was a good story. On that note, Harry opened it and started where he had left off earlier that day; he was almost half way through now. It was dark by now, but the street lights from the roads either side of the park cast enough light for Harry to see by.

Harry was asleep by the third page.

o0o

At that moment in London, Remus Lupin was desperately trying to talk some sense into his old school friend Sirius Black, while simultaneously packing his bags to leave for Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore had asked him to return to his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at the school, and tomorrow he would be making history by being the first teacher of that subject to return for a second year in almost fifty years. The werewolves had played a big part in the overthrowing of the Death Eaters, and Albus assured him that there would be no complaints from students or parents, and yet Remus was slightly nervous about starting back at Hogwarts.

Added to his inhibitions was the fact that he was terribly worried about Sirius. The man was determined to find his Godson, and it seemed he would stop at nothing. As they had tried everything magical thing to pinpoint the boy that they could, the only thing that remained to be done was to literally go and look for him; so that was what Sirius planned on doing. He was going to set off into the world and _look_ for Harry. Remus knew it was madness but had just about given up on stopping the man.

"Please Sirius, listen to reason. Harry is dead. He died to save the entire world, wizards and muggles alike, you should be proud of him. Not setting off on a wild goose chase that will only amount to you being more unhappy than you are now." Sirius' eyes flamed.

"Maybe you can forget about him like that, but I won't just give up."

"I'm not suggesting you forget about him Sirius, I just think that you should honour his memory in the best way you can, and get on with living your own life. You're free now; think about happy Harry would be about that!"

"Exactly," Sirius said, not backing down, "and I intend to tell. When I find him."

Remus sighed. "Okay Sirius, if this is something you need to do, then so be it. Just Remember that I'm only a floo away if you need someone to talk to." And with that the two friends embraced, Remus picked a handful of white powder from the mantelpiece, threw it into the fire, and called out 'Hogwarts".


	8. Chapter 8

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Bet you can't guess what I'm gonna say here!? Oh who am I kidding, you all know it's not mine.

**Author's Notes:** Not sure about this… It's just what needs to happen for the story to progress in the right way.

Chapter Eight

Damien overslept slightly on the morning of the first of September. It was therefore nearly eight o'clock when he stopped for a chat with Mrs Thwaytes on Lifford Avenue. As usual all he learnt from the few words exchanged was a bit of trivia about the lady's cats, and as he crossed the road he mused about the fact that he really didn't know that much about her; except that she had lived in the area for longer than anyone could remember.

As he entered Clarey, he looked over to the bench under the oak, assuming that was where the boy would wait for him. He was surprised to see that the child _was there_, but seemed to be lying down. It odd somehow, even though Damien realised he didn't really know enough to judge what was or was not out of character for the child. So he made his way over to where he lay.

As he grew closer, it became apparent that the child was very much asleep. Damien frowned and sat beside the child. He removed his book from the child's hands, and placed it on the bench beside him, and contemplated possible reasons for the boy being in such a state. He thought it was improbable that the child had turned up to meet him, only to fall asleep. Therefore, he assumed the most likely explanation was that the boy had been there all night. The priest wasn't surprised, he had suspected from the start that the child didn't have a home, but he felt sad that the child hadn't told him. Although when he looked back on it, the boy had never actually _said_ that he had somewhere to go, only implied it.

Damien sighed, trying to decide what was the beat thing to do, and the child's sleeping form stirred beside him.

Groaning slightly, Harry flexed his muscles and observed his surroundings. He was in the park. Sitting up quickly, he looked around and saw the priest sitting next to him. He groaned again, closing his eyes and mentally kicking himself for letting this happen.

"Will you tell social services?" He asked quietly. The man seemed to consider this for a second, and then shook his head. "I would not make you do something you didn't want to, but if it was the best thing to do, I might try and persuade you to consider it. In this situation, I do not think that sending you to a home would be for the best." Harry almost let out a sigh of relief, when he noticed the man had not finished. "However, I could not go on like I am while knowing you had no home."

Harry was confused, if he was not going to send him to a home, what was he going to do? "Do you remember yesterday, I showed you the apartments at the back of the church were the monks used to live?" Harry nodded, thinking he knew were this was going. "Well recently I was told I was to be allowed to live there. I realise how this must sound, and that it's a big thing to ask of you, but I want you to take the smaller room as you own" Harry began to protest- "Don't argue. Technically I'm not doing anything; the room would be there anyway, just gathering dust. This way it's put to use, you have somewhere relatively habitable to stay, and I don't have a homeless child on my conscience."

Harry sat, slightly stunned, for some time. Opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. After some time, he spoke very hesitantly, "What will you do if I say no?"

Damien took a deep breath; he honestly didn't know what he would do. He couldn't leave the child on the streets, but he had already admitted that he didn't think a home was the best place for the boy. "I'm not sure," he said honestly, "But I know I can't let you continue to live like this while there's something I can do about it."

Harry considered this. "Can I think about it?" He asked. "Of course you can," Damien said, just happy that the boy hadn't refused straight away, not that he had given him much choice other than just running away; but it appeared the boy had done that once already. "Would you prefer to stay here for a bit, or come straight to the church? I'm not really doing anything right now, but this afternoon I have to make a visit to the hospital."

"I'll stay here for a while I think, then come over to the church in a bit?" Harry asked, wanting to think. "Sure," the man said, standing. "I'll see you sometime soon." He smiled at Harry and left him in peace. Harry recognised that the priest had just handed him a way out, he could run away right now and never see the man again. Harry also saw how much trust he had put in him, and he realised he could never run away, he would feel too bad about braking the man's faith in him.

Harry watched as he walked away, and considered the man's proposition. He really didn't want to say yes, it just seemed too much. He tried to look at both sides, weighing up what would be best. On one hand, if he moved into the church, he would be very much in debt to the priest; he would be accepting something very big. And yet he would be earning it by working. But he couldn't just randomly move in and live with someone he'd known for, what? Three days? However he felt the priest knew him much better than many people whom he had once called his closest friends; and, however unwillingly, he trusted the man, and felt he knew him quite well also. They were both alone, and so had at least one thing in common. Harry knew he could just about manage to stay alive if he stayed on the streets, but was it really how he wanted to live for the rest of his life? Until now, living this way had been the only alternative to returning to his old life, and he felt anything was better than that, But now… Now he didn't know.

He sat for about another hour, and then, not sure he was making the right decision, but secure in the knowledge that if he was making a mistake he could just change his mind, Harry made his way over to see Father Damien.


	9. Chapter 9

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Still baking, it's slow work, but it's coming on well! Not long now and it will be mine!! But at the moment it's still not.

**Author's Notes:** Back to Hogwarts! Hope you like it.

Chapter Nine

As was traditional for the Weasley family, they were running late for the train to Hogwarts. Even though only two of them, Ron and Ginny, were actually still attending school, all nine of them went to the station to say goodbye; ten if you included Hermione, who had pretty much been adopted by the family anyway.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters had changed since they had last been there, people seemed subdued; there was not so much of the usual hustle and bustle. Hermione thought that many people were probably also thinking about the absence of the boy with a scar on his forehead.

The Order had not offered the wizarding world as a whole an explanation as to what had happened to Harry, partly because there was still uncertainty surrounding the matter, and also because it would have been very final to tell the world that he was dead. They were only just coming to terms with it themselves. And so the rumour mill began to turn, and the Prophet seemed to have a new theory every day. Generally, people either thought that Harry had died, or that he had been keeping away from all the publicity during the school holidays, and would reappear at Hogwarts at the start of term.

Therefore, Ron and Hermione found themselves bombarded with inquisitive looks, from both parents and student alike. "Come on," Ron said, "let's go find a compartment." His voice was sullen, and Hermione thought about how her friend had been affected by Harry's death. In a way she thought Ron had resigned himself to the fact that his friend might not be around forever a long time ago; but he still hadn't been ready when the day had finally come.

The two of them had refused point blank to be left behind when the Order went to save Harry from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. And so they had been present at the fight to end all fights, when the Order had surrounded the large manor house where Voldemort was hiding out, and slowly fought their way in. As the Death Eaters fell, the survivors amongst them had retreated further and further into the house, ending up in the dungeons, where the Order had finally found the body of the Dark Lord, and the last reminder that Harry had saved them all.

Some had died in the battle, but most had been lucky. Hermione was still amazed when she looked back on the ferocity with which they had all fought, including herself. She believed the reason for their determination was the promise of finding Harry at the end; everyone within the Order had been desperate to get him out, and all had been bitterly disappointed to find they were too late.

They boarded the train with Ginny, found a compartment, and were later joined by Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. All looked at Ron and Hermione hopefully when they entered the carriage, as if expecting them to say that Harry would join them when they got to Hogwarts, but the hope was washed away when his two best friends just shook their heads forlornly.

They all sat in silence for the first half of the journey, all thinking about the same thing, the same person. Their sombre mood however, was interrupted by someone opening the door to their compartment. It was Draco Malfoy. Although very few knew it, the slytherin prince had been a great asset to the Order helping them find Voldemort's hiding place in exchange for shelter from his father's wrath. As soon as he opened the door to the compartment, he was bombarded by angry voices, 'what do you want Malfoy?' 'come to gloat?' 'shove off Malfoy' were some of the things discernable in the racket.

"No I have not come to gloat." He said to them frostily. He was met with cold stares. Only Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had any clue that he had played a part in finding Voldemort's lair, and even they didn't know just how helpful he had been.

"What _do_ you want then Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her voice only wavering slightly.

"I have come to tell you that you are a disgrace Potter's memory sitting around here and feeling sorry for yourselves. Do you honestly think he would have wanted you all moping about for the rest of your lives just because he _saved the world_? For God's sake lighten up." He said harshly, he slammed the compartment door, stalking off and leaving the Gryffindors looking stunned.

After a few moments, Ginny spoke, her voice high and tears leaking down her cheeks. "Oh, he's r-right you know. Harry would have h-hated this." There was a murmur of ascent from the others, and surprisingly, it Neville who finally acted. "Right then," he said, "Who's up for exploding snap? Harry always loved that." The others smiled, and slowly they settled down into their usual rhythm, keeping Harry in their conversation, and in their thoughts.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, they spilt up into two groups so they could fit into the carriages that took them up to the castle. Both Ron and Hermione noted that the creatures pulling them were no longer invisible, and they exchanged a meaningful look.

As usual they went straight to the Great Hall to prepare for the sorting. As they entered, they were taken aback. The four banners that hung behind the teachers' table, that were usually brightly coloured in red, green, yellow, purple, and bore the crest of the four houses of Hogwarts, were all deep, plain, black.

For the first time in as long as both the teachers and the students could remember, the room was dead quiet during the sorting, with only a polite clap when each new student's house was called out. When the sorting was over and the hat put away, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"I see you have all guessed the reason for our change of decoration this year. This honours all those who lost their lives during the war, whichever side they fought for. And in particular, it is in memory of a boy who was a valuable part of our family here at Hogwarts, and who we all knew well. I ask you all to take a moment of silence, to remember Harry Potter."

There were very few people who did not shed tears during the next few minutes, and dinner after that was a subdued affair, with everyone going to bed with a lot to think about.


	10. Chapter 10

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **It's _still_ not mine, I have to admit, I'm starting to get impatient now.

**Author's Notes:** Heloo again, here's another one, tell me what you think, yadda yadda yadda, you know the drill.

Chapter Ten

Damien was had decided to pass the morning and take his mind off the boy by balancing the church's financing books. He had to do it once a month and absolutely dreaded it; he had always been bad at maths and could just never make it work. It had the desired effect and the time passed quickly, his mind kept on the books and not the young boy he had just asked to _move in with him. _How stupid could he be? But it seemed to be the only thing to do, and it had the desired effect – it kept the boy off the streets where he was safe. He had let the child stay over at the as a gesture of trust, he hoped the boy picked up on it; he really wanted the child to understand how much he wanted to help.

The man was engrossed in his work when the boy came in, and only slowly became aware that the child was standing behind him, watching him as he tried to make the money coming into the church equal that which was going out.

"You haven't added the VAT to those," Harry said, pointing it out. "That's why it won't balance." Damien looked, and sure enough, he had overlooked the tax. He couldn't believe it, he had been trying to do this for almost two hours, and the child had seen it less than two minutes. The man stared and Harry for a while, dumbstruck; and then said, "Well you have to stay now!"

Harry smiled a little, "Well, obviously you need help. So it would be wrong of me not to stay wouldn't it?!" Damien grinned. "But," Harry said quickly, not wanting to give the wrong idea, "Just for a little while, as, like, a trial. To see if it works out okay." He looked hesitant, "Is that okay?"

"That sounds like a very good idea; you can stay for a while, and if it suits you, we can make it more permanent." Harry smiled fully at that, it was just what he'd needed to hear; not wanting to commit to any thing big just yet.

Damien looked at his watch. "Goodness! Is that the time? Look, I'm really sorry, I have to run; I'm supposed to be at the hospital in about… five minutes ago! I'll see you back here?"

"'Kay," Harry said, trying not to laugh at the priest, who was currently running out of St Michaels like a madman, picking up bible's as he went.

The door closed with a bang behind the priest, and Harry realised that he had nothing to do. He could always go back to the park, but what if Damien returned before him? He would think he had run off. No, Harry would stay in the church. As he glanced around at his surroundings, he saw the financing books on a table where Damien had left them. Slowly, he sat down in the man's vacated chair. He picked up the book on the top if the pile, and flicked through it. The man hadn't been joking when he said he needed help. The book was in a complete mess. Harry considered this for a second, although this wasn't something that was in his 'job description', he thought he could definitely do better at it than Damien. And that would be helping out, so technically that what he was there to do, so before Harry could persuade himself out of it, he picked up a pencil and started to make some order where Damien had failed so miserably.

As he worked through it all, Harry found it to be almost as satisfying as cleaning, he would work down a column of 'ins', put it up against the right 'outs', and the numbers just fitted. He finished the second book on the pile, and went to pick up the next, but was distracted by a newspaper sitting beside the pile. What particularly caught his eye was the date: the second of September. An icy cold wave spread through Harry's body, this was the day when he should be starting his first lessons of his seventh year at Hogwarts. He should be bored in History of Magic, struggling in Potions, and exceeding even the highest expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts. A part of him suddenly felt sad for all these things he would never get to do, and the larger half took over again. He could never return to that life, not now.

Harry pushed the thought from his mind, this was his life now. And the more he came to think about it, this life might not be so bad. Damien was good company, he had somewhere to get food, he had a purpose, and now, he even had a bed to sleep in. Harry closed his eyes in ecstasy at the thought of having a bed to sleep in, finally thinking that he might have done the right thing by choosing to accept Father Moore's offer. Running his mind once more over the agreement he know had with the priest, it hit him just how kind the man was being to Harry; and he began to redouble his efforts on balancing the church's books.

And that was how Damien found him when he returned that evening, totally engrossed. This child would never cease to amaze, first cleaning, now maths. Damien could tell he was enjoying too, the smug little smile that the boy got after tackling what must have been a particularly hard sum amused the man, and he was pleased to the child happy with what he was doing.

It was quite late before the child emerged from his trance, "I did it!" He said, grinning. Damien smiled back. "Do you realise that you just did in a few hours, what would normally have taken me days? It's amazing! Not to mention a good show of how desperate my maths skills are." Harry smiled, happy to have helped.

It was then that Damien realised something, "Good gracious child, you haven't eaten a thing all day! I say I want to look after you, and what do I do? I let you starve." Because they had worked late again, there was no choice but to get another take-away. And so the two of them sat on the bench in Clarey Park, eating Fish and Chips.

"I can assure you it won't be like this every day," Damien said grinning, "We shall have to be more organised in the future so there's time to cook something. Not that I can cook very well I'm afraid."

"I can cook," Harry said off-handily. Damien's eyes widened, "What I want to know then, is how does a boy such as yourself learn to clean, do tax invoices _and _cook?" His tone was playful and Harry smiled. "Yeah well, I'm not exactly your average teenager."

"So I gather." Damien said and turned to Harry, who avoided his eyes. "Don't worry; I won't make you tell me anything you don't want to. What I do want to know though, is something I've been meaning to ask you forever, I can't believe I keep forgetting!"

"What's that?" Harry asked, a little worried about what the man might want to know, but glad that the priest had said he wouldn't force Harry to give up any information he didn't want to. Which when Harry thought about it, was pretty much everything about his life up to date.

"I think, that as you're coming to live with me, I should at least get to know your _name_?" This made Harry laugh a little, he hadn't particularly thought about the fact that the man didn't know his name before, but now he realised that it must be a little strange for him, not even knowing what to call him.

"My name," the boy said, hesitating only for a second, "is Harry"

"Well in that case, it's very nice to meet you Harry" Damien said, reaching out his hand, and Harry took it, laughing.


	11. Chapter 11

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, okay, so it's not mine. So what? It's not like I _want_ it or anything…

**Author's Notes:** I _really_ need to know how people feel about this chapter as it's caused me a lot of bother and I'm still not sure. I'm also completely new to the rating system, so if anyone feels I should change the rating of this fic - _please_ tell me! For anyone who didn't know: **Catholic Agency for Overseas Development**: **CAFOD** works to end poverty and make a just world. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Eleven

That night, Harry slept better than he had in ages. There was no Voldemort bothering him either in person or via dreams, and he had a bed. A bed! He could hardly believe how amazing it felt. Damien had been quite apologetic about the state of the room, it was small, cramped, dusty, the furniture was outdated, and the smell was a bit off, but Harry couldn't give two hoots. It felt like luxury; and besides, Harry could clean it up the next day, if he could bring himself to get out of the bed.

The only thing that bothered him a little was that at the moment Damien was still staying at his flat on the other side of Clarey, so Harry was alone in the church. He knew it was stupid to feel weird about this when he had spent the last two months on the streets, but it just felt strange. When Damien had realised how Harry felt about this particular aspect of the new arrangements, he had assured the boy that they would get started on moving Damien's things into the church as soon as possible. Harry felt strangely proud at the fact that Damien wanted to help him feel comfortable and happy. It felt good to have someone look after and care about him. It was a long time since he had had that.

And so when Damien got up early to go into work that morning in case the boy had been uncomfortable waking up in the church alone, - (and nearly missed his morning run-in with Mrs Thwaytes in the process, Tabitha was getting the bandage taken off today), he found the child still sleeping peacefully, and decided to leave him to a while longer. He definitely deserved a break.

Damien considered what had happened the night before. He was elated that Harry had told him his name, for just a moment there, when the boy had hesitated, he had wondered if perhaps the child didn't want to tell him, and so was very pleased when he had. He thought 'Harry' seemed a very suited name for the boy; it was quite simple, and yet had the potential to be something pretty amazing.

When he had taken the boy to the room he would have, he realised just what bad a condition it was in, and felt quite embarrassed that he couldn't offer anything better, but Harry seemed to think it was great, and when Damien thought about what the child had to compare it to, it was probably a very welcome change. Another thing that had come to his attention when he had seen the boy to bed, was that the only clothes he had were the ones he was wearing, and goodness knows how long he'd been wearing them. He would have to find Harry new ones, but how to make the boy accept them was a problem.

Suddenly Damien had and idea, and decided to act straight away. He wrote Harry a note, explaining that he would be back before lunch time and that there some things for breakfast in the church's kitchenette. And with that he set off.

About fifteen minutes walk into Limerick, there was a CAFOD charity shop, who exported unwanted clothes and household items out to third world countries where they could be well used. Because CAFOD was a catholic charity, Damien knew the woman who owned the shop well, and felt sure she would help.

When he returned, Harry was in his new room, making it a little more habitable. And a good job he'd done to, it looked much better already. The boy seemed to be at ease, although a little quiet. Damien greeted him, "You're up then, sleep well?"

"Immensely." The boy said, his voice calm and contented. "I'm glad," Damien was now a little unsure about how the boy would feel about what he had done. But decided that there was nothing to do but go for it and pray for the best.

"I got you some clothes this morning." Damien blurted out. The boy pulled his head back a little, as if shocked, and on some level a little hurt. "Don't worry," the priest added quickly, "I didn't go out and spend lots of money on you. In fact I didn't spend any money at all. They are all things that people no longer wanted or needed, and were donated to a friend of mine in town. I hope you don't mind, but I told her a little about your situation, and she was over-the-moon to be able to help. Please don't say this is _charity_ Harry, it's not. It's just people who honestly care for your wellbeing, and desperately want to help."

Harry sat still on the bed, his mind reeling at what he had just heard, trying to make sense of it. He didn't want have to accept so much the man, and yet, when he thought about what Damien had actually done, he saw a different side to it. The priest had considered his wants and needs, and catered to them by not buying new things for him, and the man seemed honestly concerned that Harry would be upset about the situation.

"Why are you worried about me being angry with you for this?" Harry asked. Damien considered this, "I suppose, I'm anxious that you will shy away from me and I won't be able to help you anymore." The man said, being entirely honest with the child. Harry saw this and smiled, "Good answer."

Damien beamed, "I'm very glad you think so, I'll go and get your things, and if you like you can take a shower and get changed."

As the priest went through to the next room, Harry flopped down onto the bed, smiling slightly, and said quietly, "_My _things."

o0o

Harry felt amazing after having had a shower, feeling he had washed some of the past away. This was the first time he had washed since Voldemort's fortress, and part of Harry saw this as another way of leaving that time behind him. It was also a huge relief to change his clothes; truth be told, the one's he had had on when Damien found him were not his. In Wales, Voldemort had dictated what he wore, and one of the first things he did after coming around and finding himself in Limerick, was to find some clothes in people's bins. It had taken ages to find ones that were even mildly suitable, and it was disgusting to have to have to get them out of someone's trash, but it was vastly better than walking around in robes the Dark Lord had given him.

There was a wall length mirror in the church's small bathroom, and for the first time in a long while, Harry could really inspect the damage done during his time with Voldemort. There were two long, thick ragged scars running the length of the back of legs, he still remembered how it had been when trying to walk after that. He also remembered how he had forced himself to bend and stretch his legs constantly while they were healing, however painful it was. He had wanted them to heal without the scars being tight and preventing him from walking properly, he had been determined not to let Voldemort win.

His chest and abdomen were covered with small white circular scars. Needles, pins, pain.

Harry was relatively familiar with all of this, they were in obvious places and he had seen them before. But what the mirror showed him was a small pattern of scars on his back. He vaguely remembered this happening, but hadn't really thought of it, things from that time were a little blurred, and Harry had to admit he preferred things that way. But now he could see it, he wanted to inspect it closer, wanted to know exactly who he was now.

So he went to the cabinet above the sink, and drew out a hand held mirror. When he used both mirrors, he could not only see himself from behind, but the reversal effect from both mirrors cancelled each other, so he could so his back the right way around.

And Harry got just what he wanted, and found out exactly who he was now. There, on his back, were _words_. Harry read it, and dropped the mirror to the floor. He backed away from his reflection in the tall mirror, leant against the wall, slid down it, and sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his head buried in them.

Voldemort might have been dead, but he had still won. The words scrawled lazily across Harry's back read:

'_The Boy Who Was Allowed to Live,_

_Property of Lord Voldemort.'_


	12. Chapter 12

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **It's still not mine, _sniff_

**Author's Notes:** And we're back at Hogwarts!! Is that good? Is it bad? Do you even care? Would you rather I wrote that my gingerbread men army got out of control and _ate_ Harry Potter himself?? Whatever you might want/think/need… tell me!!

Chapter Twelve

Remus Lupin went to lunch in the Great Hall thinking that his first day had gone well so far, considering that the last time he had worked at Hogwarts he had been sacked for being a 'bloodthirsty murdering beast'. One of the second years in his first class of the day had put a hand up, and asked meekly about his situation. Remus could tell that the class had nominated the child between them to ask the question they all wanted to hear the answer to. He had dealt with it calmly and explained to them that he was a werewolf, but was completely safe as Professor Snape (some eyebrows raised here) made him a potion once a month that let him keep his mind and stay a normal person during transformations, simply trapped inside a body of a wolf. Yes he had been asked to leave the school several years previously (these students were too young to remember the incident as they hadn't attended Hogwarts a t the time), but times had changed since then and the people of the wizarding world had accepted werewolves as what they were – completely harmless and well-meaning.

They still seemed sceptical, until a girl at the back with mousey coloured hair piped up that her aunt had been saved from Death Eaters by a werewolf during the war. The class seemed to settle after that and Remus gave a rather large sum of points to the girls house (Hufflepuff) under his breath, extremely thankful to her. His other classes had continued in pretty much the same way all morning, with some brave soul asking the dreaded question, and Remus assuring them all that he would not try to eat them in the night.

He took a seat at the teachers table, next to Pomona Sprout, who immediately began to tell him animatedly about how Neville Longbottom had single handedly tackled a Pentus Quarum to the floor that morning _and_ harvested the plant's seeds in the process. Remus laughed as Severus Snape muttered something under his breath about how the boy would be the death of them all.

Remus had Neville's class next, and if truth be told, it was the one he was most nervous about. It was the class with Harry's friends, and it was no secret that Remus had been largely involved with the boy. This thought entering his mind, he left the Great Hall, saying a few quick good byes, and went back to his classroom to prepare for the lesson. He planned to just do some simple spell deflection, not wanting to push them too much in a lesson where he knew many would be thinking about Harry, the boy had taught many of them nearly all of what they knew in DADA, and Remus knew his presence would be missed in a class where he had been so prominent.

He flicked his wand and the desks in his classroom flew to the sides if the room and stacked themselves neatly on top of each other. As he finished the movement, the door to the room opened and in walked the Gryffindor seventh years. They all stood in a group by the door, eerily quiet for a moment, as if acknowledging the lack of Harry's presence; and then someone at the back of the group called out, "Great to have you back sir!" And a rampage of cheers and congratulations followed.

Remus beamed, thanking them, and set them all to work on the new shielding spell they would have to know for their NEWTs. The class worked well, Remus moving in amongst them and correcting them as he went. At one point he heard a conversation between Neville and Lavender Brown, Neville was having difficulties, but pointed out to Lavender that Professor Lupin was busy with someone else. Lavender reacted quickly and on the spur of the moment, saying "Then get help from Har-" and stopped dead in her tracks. The few people who had overheard turned to her uncomfortably, and she blushed. "Sorry," she said quietly, and received a few pats on the back and a hug; Remus was pleased and proud to see they were looking after each other.

When he got round to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who had unsurprisingly partnered each other, he wasn't surprised to see that they were arguing. Hermione trying to tell Ron how to do it properly and Ron complaining that she was being a patronising know-it-all. Remus grinned, "Some thing don't change then huh?" he said to them. Noticing his presence for the first time, they turned and smile, Hermione flushing slightly.

"The difference now," Ron said, almost unsure if he should be saying it or not, "is the lack of Harry telling us to shut up and get on with it." Remus smiled gently at the boy, "Well in that case, I think I speak for everyone in the room when I say: shut up and get on with it!" The people who had heard smiled and laughed freely, Ron and Hermione blushing, deciding they should probably take the man's advice.

And so life at Hogwarts proceeded relatively normally, every now and then Harry would crop up in a conversation, the students and teachers alike would remember the times they'd had with him, and smile.


	13. Chapter 13

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Yes okay, so it's not mine, no need to rub it in.

**Author's Notes: **Yes, I know it's short, and I'm sorry, but at least I'm updating regularly right?

Chapter Thirteen (ooh, it's unlucky, will bad things happen?...)

Damien was in Harry's room putting his new clothes on the bed when he heard glass shatter. He ran straight to the bathroom, terrified something awful had happened, had the boy slipped? Was he hurt?

The door was shut but there Damien knew there was no lock on the other side so he opened it, looking around, hesitant now in case everything was fine and he was invading the child's privacy. At first he couldn't see Harry, only when he looked on the floor for any sign of the glass he had heard smash did he spot the boy.

He was sitting with his back against the wall, his legs up to his chest, and his face hiding in his knees. The boy was completely naked.

Damien immediately went to the cupboard in the room and drew out a towel. He then went over to the child and set it around him, noticing two things in the process. First, that the boy was shaking violently, his breath coming in short gasps; and second, when he gently prised the boy away from the wall to wrap the towel around him, that someone had carved _words_ into his back. The man gasped, sickened and appalled by what he was seeing.

He immediately acted on his first instinct, and pulled the boy to his chest, holding his shivering form firmly in his arms. As he held the child, his mind reeled at what he had seen. Who could even dream of doing such a thing to someone, to a _child_?

He rocked Harry slowly back and forth, starting to murmur, the child's head tucked beneath his chin. And so Father Damien Moore sat on the bathroom floor, a trembling boy in his arms, and prayed.

o0o

Time stood still for Harry. His mind whirled with images of Voldemort, Wales, and the scars. He felt dirty, contaminated.

Slowly he became aware that someone was with him. More than that, someone was holding him, and there was the sound of someone's voice, rhythmic and calming.

He started to come to and observe his surroundings. He was still in the bathroom, Damien was there. As he remembered what had happened, he whimpered feebly. The man's arms tightened around him, and Harry felt the tears start to squeeze out from his eyes, until they flowed freely down his cheeks and neck.

Damien was lost in this situation, what was he supposed to do? He supposed the first priority was to get Harry to calm down and settle into his surroundings. Not that the man had a clue how best to do that. The child was crying now.

The priest began to speak about nothing in particular, telling of how his friend Whitney was getting married soon. She wanted him to do the service, but he didn't want to – he thought it would be weird, and he wasn't sure how to tell her. He spoke about how he wanted to buy a new cooker for the church's kitchenette, the one they had now looked like it had been around when since the dawn of time. He talked of a new woman in his congregation whom Damien was sure he recognised from somewhere, but couldn't place her, and it had nagged him all the way through the service on Sunday. He told Harry about Mrs Thwaytes and her cats, going through the names of each one and all of the many adventures they had had, and how Mrs Thwaytes told him all about it every morning. He wondered over what the lady would do now he wouldn't be making his morning journey to the church via Lifford Avenue anymore.

And the boy gradually calmed, he stopped shaking, his breathing slowed, and the tears dried on his cheeks.

"I'm s-sorry," the child said quietly, his voice croaky and harsh from crying.

"No, no don't be sorry. Come on, let's put you in some clothes." And Damien lifted the child from the floor, his skinny form light and easy to carry, and took him to his room. The priest decided to put the boy in pyjamas and let him sleep, he seemed exhausted. So he dressed the boy, whose only movements were slow and frail, and set him down in the bed, pulling the covers over his thin frame.

He left the room, leaving the door ajar, and went through into the small living area. He had always assumed that this child had had a hard life, but now he truly understood just how much he had been through. When putting the boy's pyjamas on, he had seen other signs of his pain. Scars littered his body, including two thick ropey white lines that extended down the length of his legs.

Damien put his head in his hands and sighed. It pulled at his heart that such a young soul could be hurt in such a way. He could not comprehend the horror he knew Harry must have endured; and he hurriedly crossed himself, as he thought of what he would do if he ever met this _Lord Voldemort._


	14. Chapter 14

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **not mine not mine not mine.

**Author's Notes:** Well here we are again, I'm afraid updates are gonna slow down just a little cos I'm going back to school soon but I'll make sure you still get a regular fix – no worries!

Chapter Fourteen

Harry woke up gradually, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings; somewhere warm and comfortable. He blinked his eyes open, and looked around him. He was in the small bedroom at St Michaels; sunlight was streaming through the small window. This made Harry frown, why was he in bed at this hour? And slowly it came back to him, the new clothes, the mirror, the scars…

As the thought entered his mind, he tentatively reached his hand around to feel his back. It was hard, and even when he stretched completely he could only reach the bottom of the marks. He lay back down on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing that it would all just go away.

He lay like that for some time, burying his head deep into his pillow. And gradually, Harry saw it in a different way, little by little, he opened up to the possibility that it wasn't quite as bad as he had first thought. Okay, so there was a scar on his back now, it reminded him terribly of what he had been through, and it illustrated how Voldemort had taken over him completely. But Voldemort no longer had any power over Harry, he was dead. And look what Harry had done – he had begun a whole new life, his _own _life, one where he could make decisions for himself for the first time in ages. When Voldemort had cut his legs in punishment for attempting to run away, Harry had made a point of not giving in to the pain, he had made sure the lacerations didn't heal in a way that would constrict him in the future, and he had been proud of himself for proving he could do it. Harry thought about how the marks on his back could be interpreted in a similar way; they showed what he had been through, but they also proved that he had come through it at the other end, and was still around to tell the tale.

Harry suddenly felt defiant; he _had _come through it at the other end, and he most certainly did_ not_ answer to Lord Voldemort. However reluctantly, Harry had to admit that he couldn't let this take over his life, he would not let Voldemort hurt him from beyond the grave.

And so he climbed out of the bed and walked over to the chest of drawers in his small room, smiling a little at the thought of it being _his _room. He drew out several items of clothing and looked them over. They were definitely not the height of fashion, but Harry had never worried about things like that, and they were _his_. At the Dursleys he had never been given his own clothes, only ever Dudley's hand-me-downs, and other than that, the only clothes he had were his school robes, and they didn't really count. So he dressed in a pair of jeans and a deep blue sweater, and went out into the main part of the church.

He saw Damien up at the alter, setting out new candles, and he went and sat in the front pew. He could remember the priest holding him in the bathroom, but it was all I little fuzzy. One thing that stuck out in his memory was how the man had gasped when he saw the scars; _he thinks it's disgusting, _Harry thought, his mood dropping slightly.

Damien turned and on seeing Harry nearly dropped the things he was carrying in shock. "Harry! You startled me!" Harry didn't move.

Damien set the things he was holding down on the floor and walked over to they boy. "Can I sit?" The boy nodded, and Damien sat down on the pew beside him. They sat in silence for some time, and it was Damien who finally spoke. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"I- I don't think I could." Harry said, almost inaudibly. "Are you angry?"

"Harry, how could I possibly be angry at you? I'm just worried, sometimes, if you keep things bottled up inside, they start to fester, and it can really start to hurt. If you think it would help, then you can talk to me anytime, about anything."

Harry considered this, he knew the man was right, but he could never understand. For one thing, he was a muggle, how could a muggle understand about Voldemort?

"I think," Harry said cautiously, "that you, that I… I think it's enough that you know about this much. I want the rest to be in the past now, I want it to be over. I just want to start again completely."

"Then I think you're in the right place," Damien said, smiling reassuringly. And Harry smiled back, saying "Thank you, for, everything."

"I'm more than happy to help child, besides, you'll be helping me out with the workload and I have to admit it'll be nice to have some company." They both knew that Harry was talking about more than just being taken in, but each understood the other, and therefore didn't mention it.

The rest of the day was spent starting to move Damien's things from his old apartment to the church. They packed up the things he wanted to take with him into large cardboard boxes and carried them to St Michaels via Clarey. Harry liked Damien's soon to be ex-apartment, and commented on not understanding Damien's motives for moving, and the man explained how hard it was to keep the church running smoothly, this way he was closer to the action and work would be much easier.

Damien thought the child was still a little uncomfortable after the morning's events, but just tried to counter it by making things easy and simple for the boy. They had a relatively quiet day and dinner that night was a joint effort, Damien slightly surprised to see that the boy hadn't been joking when he had said he could cook; and once again wondered where the boy had gotten his strange range of talents.

When it came to time to go to bed, Damien enquired gently if Harry wanted the man to stay at the church with him that night. The child considered it for some time, but eventually turned down the offer. Damien hoped it was a good sign, and the boy seemed determined not to let things get him down too much. He wondered what had provoked such a reaction from him that morning, he gathered from the smaller broken mirror that the child had been trying to see his back, and supposed that Harry hadn't really seen the extent of his scarring before, and that was what had caused his shock.

And so it was with a busy mind that the man went to bed that night, wondering still where this strange child had come from. Obviously he had been through some very hard times, but surely someone at some point had cared for the boy? But if so, where were they now? Surely people wouldn't just give up on a loved one like that?


	15. Chapter 15

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I'm not even gonna say it – you all know by now.

**Author's Notes:** Yet another chappie to satisfy your fanfiction lust; although I have to say it pains me just how short this is – I'm sorry! I was hoping to get this fic out there before I go back to school, because by then I'll have practically no chances at all to update, but it's still here and I'm back in the classroom on Monday (joy!), so I apologize if updates slow down.

Chapter Fifteen

Sirius Knew very well that finding Harry was going to be hard work, he had no point of reference – Harry could be anywhere. But there was no way that was going to stop him, he knew the boy was out there somewhere, and fully intended to find him. There was no easy place to start the search, but Sirius decided he would be methodical, starting in Wales, where Harry was last known to be, and slowly work his way outwards.

He had a picture of Harry taken at the beginning of his sixth year, that he had blown up and made many copies of, and was using it to help. He was sticking mainly to searching and asking muggles, he assumed that Harry would be somewhere in the muggle world, as any wizards or witches would have recognised him by now. He went round hospitals, hostels, schools, job centres, supermarkets, shopping centres, anywhere that he thought Harry might have gone or where there might be people who could have seen him.

One of the things he couldn't understand was that Harry had not tried to find Sirius. He _knew_ his godson had survived, and yet the boy not found or contacted any of his friends. The only conclusion he could draw from this was that Harry was either badly hurt, had amnesia, or worst possible scenario, blamed his them for what had happened to him. Every time Sirius let this thought enter his mind, he pushed it quickly away, it hurt him that Harry might be upset with him for letting this happen, and yet he knew the boy would be justified if he was. Sirius constantly blamed himself for not taking better care of the child, and he felt he was paying the price for it now.

Sirius used a spell which let him send duplicated versions of himself to anywhere within two miles of his actual body, and so there were always at least three Sirius Blacks search in for Harry at any one point in time, but the work was still slow. And the man went to bed at night feeling despondent and a little less hopeful than he had been that morning. But always got up again the next morning thinking that this might be the day he found him. He refused to give up; he was going to find Harry, even if it took him the rest of his life.

After three days searching, he visited Remus at Hogwarts. He was pleased to see that his friend was getting on okay with a job Sirius knew he had been nervous to take, but also a little peeved that the werewolf was just acting as if Harry had never existed.

"Sirius I have _not_ just forgotten about Harry!" Remus tried to convince the man who had been his best friend for pretty much as long as he could remember. "I loved him too you know, and I miss him very much. I wish you wouldn't do this to yourself Padfoot, Harry wouldn't want you to tear yourself up over his death."

It was at about this point that Sirius had left, fuming. He could not believe Remus could say Harry was dead like that – what proof did he have? The man claimed he loved Harry, so why was he just sitting around while there was a chance that Harry could be out there, desperately needing their help.

Sirius often had to go to great measures to prevent his mind from wandering to what might have happened to Harry. The explanations he could think of were often verging on horror stories, if Harry had been sent somewhere with dangerous people, somewhere where he didn't know the language the people spoke, somewhere with no people at all! His mind spun at the endless number of terrible things that could have happened to the boy, his only consolation was that he would have him back as soon as possible. Sirius Black was not going to give up.

A/N Reviews make me happy…


	16. Chapter 16

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Yup, ya guessed it, not mine.

**Author's Notes: **Okay so I'm not sure if I've got the head of Ravenclaw house down as the right person, if anyone knows please tell me! Thank you for reading!

Chapter Sixteen

Damien Walked out of his small flat and gave his keys to the man who had been his landlord for the past seven years. Thanking the man and saying a warm goodbye, he made his way to St Michaels savouring the journey he knew he wouldn't have to make again. Harry was waiting for him at the church, and Damien knew they would have to find some way to celebrate him finally moving in.

The priest had explained to Mrs Thwaytes several days ago that he would no longer be seeing her in the mornings, but insisted the lady come and visit him sometimes at St Michaels. She had been very happy to see him get what he had wanted for such a long time, although Damien thought she seemed a little unenthusiastic. He had noticed over the past few weeks that she seemed to be slowing down quite a lot, and would sometimes tell him things that she had disclosed already, just the day before.

As he walked down Lifford Avenue for the last time, he was confused to see no sign of the elderly lady; he supposed it was just bad timing, she was a little late, or he a little early, it just felt so strange that she had not magically appeared at the same time as him. It had been that way for so long. And so he found himself dawdling slightly, feeling a little sentimental about the fact that he would not see her on his last journey from the flat to the church; but left in the end, hoping sincerely that she would come visit him at St Michaels sometime.

He entered the church to find Harry already up and sorting through the store cupboard at the back of the church. The boy had mentioned just the other day how it was a little disorganised, and offered to go through and tidy it up. 'A little disorganised' was a gross understatement in reality, and Damien knew the boy was just trying to keep from saying what an awful state the man had let it get into. He had laughed at the way the boy had put it, and told him that he could do anything around the church that needed doing, and did not have to ask permission, or tiptoe around what a shambles the place was in. Harry had blushed a little at that, knowing that he had implied Damien to be messy, but glad to be able to help wherever he saw fit.

Damien had to sort through all the things he had brought from his old flat and began to organise them in the new living quarters. Halfway through this process he found the radio which had used to sit in his old kitchen. He flicked it on, found a decent enough channel, and set it on the floor.

Harry was very happy with how the store cupboard was going. He had started by taking everything out and cleaning it all up, and was now in the process of putting it back in in an orderly fashion. It felt good to be making things ordered like they should be, and he had a firm sense of purpose. The music drifting through from the back room was familiar, and when Harry stopped to listen, he recognised it as the muggle song 'Feeling Good', and he grinned. It was indeed a new dawn, a new day, a new life, and he didn't half feel good.

o0o

Somewhere in the north of Scotland, a school full of aspiring young witches and wizards were sitting down to Lunch. Chatter filled the air as the children gossiped about who was kissing who, who had detention, and what was planned for their first Hogsmeade weekend.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his tall backed chair and observed the goings on around him. There was definitely something going on with the Slytherin fourth years, he thought as he watched their secretive whispers and occasional bursts of laughter. The number of children at that table had depleted considerably since Voldemort's demise, which saddened Dumbledore a little, but he was pleased to see how the rest of the school accepted the ones who were left, and inter-house cooperation was thriving.

As leftover food disappeared from the plates at the five long tables in the Great Hall, the students dispersed, heading off to whatever lesson they had next. Albus himself had a meeting with the four heads of house to discuss how things were going in the new school year, so he headed straight up to his office.

The first to arrive was Minerva McGonagall, she politely turned down a lemon drop and engaged the old man in conversation. They talked for a while until Professors Flitwick and Sinistra entered the room, closely followed by a sullen looking Severus Snape.

They discussed new students, lesson plans, and quidditch timetables, with Snape putting in unhelpful hints about how Slytherin would thrash Gryffindor now that Potter wasn't around.

And that was how it was when a large dark owl flew in through Dumbledore's window. The man didn't recognise the owl but suspected it was either something from the ministry asking for advice or a letter of complaint from a parent, although he didn't get those quite so much as he used to.

He let the other teachers squabble over the quidditch cup while he sat back and opened the letter. As he read it, a wave of shock and sorrow rose up through his body, and he felt tears prick his eyes.

"Oh come on," McGonagall said, "even Albus admits that Gryffindor has a much better chance than Ravenclaw, don't you Albus?" There was no reply, and she turned to the man, "Albus? What on earth's wrong?" They were all looking at him now, it wasn't often that things got to Albus Dumbledore as it appeared the letter in his hand had.

"My… my sister, she has passed away." The four heads of house exchanged uncomfortable glances, unsure how to respond. "I'm sorry to hear that Albus," Flitwick said sincerely, and the others added similar responses.

"Thank you, but it was expected, she was getting very old. I shall have to take some time away from Hogwarts to attend the funeral and take care of her affairs. Goodness knows what I'll do with all her things, and her cats! She had so many cats, completely devoted to them, especially after her husband died. Arthur his name was, Arthur Thwaytes, great man. Minerva, you're in charge while I'm gone."

And with that he went to prepare his things to go to Ireland.

A/N Oooh! Shock horror! Did we see that coming? Do we think it's bad? Do we like it? Do we want the author to shut up and upload the next chapter? Yea I thought you would.


	17. Chapter 17

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Won't be long now, the HP universe will be mine – just you wait and see! But until that day comes, it's not mine.

**Author's Notes: **WOW!! The last chapter really got you guys going – so many reviews!! Thank you all sooooo much – you make me so happy and keep the story coming!!

Chapter Seventeen

Harry was preparing hymn books for the evening service when a young woman entered St Michaels. Quite a number of people visited the church every day, some came to pray, some to give confession, and some who were simply tourists who were exploring the area. The woman smiled kindly at Harry, she was well dressed in a conservative trouser suit, and carried a brief case. "Excuse me," she said politely, "I'm looking for…" she checked a sheet of paper, "Father Moore, is he around?"

Harry smiled and nodded, he didn't say anything to the woman, just went through to the back were Damien was doing paperwork. "There's someone here to see you." Damien looked up at the boy.

"Do we know them?" The man said, getting up from his seat. "No," Harry replied, "she doesn't seem to know you either."

"I'm still not famous then I see!?" Damien grinned, "Ah well, I suppose fame isn't all it's cracked up to be anyway."

"No, it's not." Harry said quietly as the priest went through to see the woman. The boy went back to getting the things ready for that evening, not paying much attention as the two adults went through to Damien's study.

Harry had been living and working at St Michaels for almost three weeks now, and was enjoying himself. Damien was good company, and Harry was not pressured into working all the time, he just did what he thought needed doing. He liked the priest a lot, and they could talk for hours once Harry got going. They discussed everything from religion and politics, to the organ player's dangerous new hair colour. And Harry found himself settling down into a comfortable rhythm, where he didn't have to worry about anything major and could relax for the first time his life.

Every now and them Harry would see or hear something that would remind him of his past, but it didn't bother him too much anymore. It just didn't seem to matter any longer, it felt like a completely different life. Here there was no magic, no exams, no enemies; just the friendly community from around St Michaels and a beautiful church to keep clean and tidy. Harry found he had become quite sentimental about St Michaels, it already felt more like a home to him than anywhere else ever had, and he was a little protective of it. He was the one who took care of keeping it in good condition, and it almost felt like his own to look after.

He had been ecstatic last Sunday just after mass, when Damien had come through to his room where he had been reading, and told the boy that there were some people who wanted to see him. At first he had been a little scared that someone from his past had found where he was living, but when Damien saw that he was apprehensive, the man had assured him that it was no one to worry about. And so Harry had gone out into the main chamber of the church, where a group of people had stayed back following the service to congratulate Damien on how stunning the church looked, and after being told that it was all the work of a young boy who had recently come to live at St Michaels, they had all been very keen to meet him. Harry had blushed at the praise they had given him, becoming very shy, but was elated to see that his work was being noticed and appreciated.

Now, Harry was sorting through the things that would be needed by people attending the day's service, and placing them just inside the entrance to St Michaels where people could pick them up on the way in. It was something he knew Damien used to do, and also one of the things that he knew the priest used to get stressed about, and that stopped him from his doing his real job. Harry was pleased to know how much he helped the man who had already done so much for him.

Walking back up the main isle with a pile of books in his arms, Harry saw the woman from earlier emerge from Damien's study, closely followed by the priest. Harry frowned when he saw the man's face, he looked troubled. The woman said a friendly but professional goodbye to him, and exited the church, smiling at Harry as she passed.

Harry put down the books, and walked hesitantly over to Damien, who was now looking through some papers, that same look on his face. "Are you all right?" Harry enquired hesitantly.

Damien looked at Harry, a little startled. "Yes, yes I'm fine child, just lost in a little world of my own." He backed up the statement with a smile. Harry gave him an inquisitive look, not sure if he should ask what the lady had wanted or not. Damien obviously guessed what he was thinking. "That woman was a lawyer. Do you remember I told you about Mrs Thwaytes? The woman with the cats?" Harry nodded. "Well she passed away a few days ago, leaving a statement in her will saying that she wanted her funeral and burial to be in this church, it seems her husband was laid to rest here, although I must admit I don't remember it. Must have been before my time."

"I'm sorry about Mrs Thwaytes. Are you sad?"

"Not exactly _sad_ I don't think, I suppose I didn't know her all that well. It's just that she was, well, she was a kind of constant around here. It feels a little strange that she won't be around anymore.

"Anyway," Damien said perking up a little, "it would appear we have a funeral to plan! Not quite the happiest occasion perhaps, but it will be your first big event here!"

"Sounds like some kind of right of passage" Harry said grinning. Damien laughed, "It does really doesn't it? But we mustn't talk about it like that in front of other people, especially her family, it's very disrespectful. Not that I think she would have minded, in fact she'd probably have been pleased to have people not moping around in her absence. But like I say, her family might feel differently."

"Did she have much family? Children, and stuff? Are they coming to the funeral?"

"Well I don't know whether she has any children, but I'm guessing she doesn't as it's her brother who will be making the arrangements for the funeral, and I would assume if she had kids that they would want to do that. Anyhow, that's another thing to fit into the busy schedule, her brother will be dropping by on Thursday to make the arrangements. And I guess he'll decide on a date then, but it won't be long I don't think, people don't tend to like waiting much for funerals, best to get them over and done with."

"Then I look forward to it, or not as the case may be." Harry said smiling, and they got back on with what they had been doing, both thinking about Mrs Thwaytes.

Harry wasn't really happy to hear that the lady had died, but couldn't deny being just a little exited about the funeral. However sad the occasion, Damien was right, it would be the first big thing to happen at St Michaels since he had arrived, and he was interested to see what it would be like.


	18. Chapter 18

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **not mine… _yet._

**Author's Notes: **There is no excuse for how long it has taken me to upload this, well, there are – lots in fact, but you're not here to be bored silly about my life. So on with the story!

Chapter Eighteen

The next day, Harry and Damien's breakfast was interrupted by the phone in the study. Damien went to answer it, leaving the boy with his cereal. Harry was almost done eating when the priest re-entered the room.

"That was Mrs Thwaytes' solicitor," the man proclaimed, picking up his half eaten piece of toast, "her brother will be coming round this afternoon to discuss the funeral, so I'll have to cut short the visit to the hospital to make it back in time to meet him. What do you plan on doing today?"

"I've nearly finished sorting through the store cupboard. I think I'll start on cleaning the back window when I'm done in there." Harry's eyes were wide with anticipation as he said this. Damien knew the boy had been dying to get at that window ever since he had first arrived at St Michaels. It was an enormous stained glass work of art, located behind the alter, and it was the church's main feature. Not once in Damien's time at St Michaels had the window been cleaned, and it was therefore well due a good scrubbing; and Damien knew Harry would make a fabulous job of it, just like he did with everything else in the church.

Damien grinned at the boy; he loved how happy it made Harry to keep the place looking immaculate, and he could see how much satisfaction the boy got out of it. Never once did the priest regret his decision to take the child in.

"Okay, but be careful on that ladder, the last thing I want is for you to fall and break your neck just because you couldn't quite reach to clean Jesus' halo"

Harry laughed into his tea, "Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"Well in that case, I'll be off. I'll probably be back around one, make sure you get yourself something to eat at lunch, and have fun!"

Harry bid the priest goodbye, cleared away the breakfast things, and went through to finish off in the now neatly ordered store cupboard. Within an hour he was finished, and gearing up to start on the large stained glass window.

o0o

Albus Dumbledore had arrived in Ireland late the night before, choosing to make the journey by muggle transport, rather than apparating. He had checked into a hotel in Limerick, and was now waiting in the lobby for his sister's solicitor.

When the young woman arrived he greeted her warmly, and they discussed plans for the day. It turned out he wasn't meeting the priest whom his sister wanted to conduct the funeral until later in the afternoon, and so had the morning to start going through her possessions.

Martha Thwaytes had left no instructions as to what she wanted to happen to her house or its occupants, only that she wanted the cats to go to a good home. Albus Dumbledore spent almost three hours using a muggle telephone to contact several animal sanctuaries in the area before finding one that would be willing to take on his sister's many pets.

That done, he didn't get far on going through Martha's things before having to get something to eat and rushing off to the church where he was due to meet with the man who would help him organise the funeral.

The solicitor had informed him that this man, Father Damien Moore, had only known his sister a little, but was very happy to conduct the ceremony. Albus wasn't surprised that Martha had wanted a non-magical funeral. Her husband had been a muggle, and towards the end of her life she had lived outside of the magical community.

He and his sister had been very close as children, but as time had moved on, so had they, seeing less and less of each other as they grew older. Albus now regretted not spending more time with his little sister, but was happy in the knowledge that she had had a good, long life, and that she was probably pleased to finally be reunited with her husband. However that didn't quite make up for the fact that his sister, someone who had been a constant in his life for so long, was now dead.

The old man had been to several funerals lately; the war had claimed many lives. There was currently talk at Hogwarts and the Ministry of holding an honorary funeral for Harry Potter, many people thought that it was only right that the boy should get some sort of recognition for what he had done for the wizarding world, even if all they could do was to honour him in death. The man sighed as his thoughts touched on the boy; it pained him that the child had known so little of life, and that the time he had been granted had been so far from the happy, care-free life that a young boy should have.

Albus was feeling mortality's chill as he paid the taxi driver who had driven him to St Michaels Church, and stood on the pavement, admiring the impressive building.

Pulling himself together, he walked up the steps to the entrance, and prepared to meet the man who would lay his baby sister to rest.

o0o

Damien had returned to St Michaels to find Harry working hard on the back window. The boy had already made great progress, and it was becoming obvious just how much the window had needed cleaning in the first place.

"Wow! It's looking great – you're doing a fantastic job, as usual!"

Harry beamed, "Thank you, it does look quite good doesn't it"

"It looks spectacular. I bet you haven't eaten though have you?" Harry looked down guiltily. Damien smiled, "Don't worry, I haven't managed to find time to have anything either."

"I'll make sandwiches!" Harry said rushing off, eager to make up for forgetting to have any lunch. Damien was always keen to make sure Harry ate, and fussed over how skinny the boy was. It felt nice to have someone care about him like that, someone who cared about him for who he was, just a boy, not the _boy who lived._

The two of them ate a light lunch, Harry rushing his, impatient to get back to his work. And so Damien was at the back of the vast church sorting through material he could use for that week's sermon when an old man with an exceptionally long beard walked in, and made his way over to the priest.

Damien looked up, and realising that this must be Mrs Thwaytes' brother, introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Damien"

"Albus Dumbledore, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, I'm very sorry for your loss sir."

"Thank you, and call me Albus, please,"

"Albus it is then, if you'd like to come through to my study then we can discuss what you'd like to do for the ceremony."

The older man smiled and acquiesced, following the priest up the isle of the church towards the alter.

"This is a beautiful building, and immaculately kept." Albus said, his pleasant smile putting Damien at ease. At first the priest had been rather unsure of this imposing character, but he seemed friendly enough.

"Thank you, it is a stunning church. But I'm afraid I can't take credit for keeping it in good shape, it's all down to Harry over there" He said, indicating the boy, who was currently engrossed in his work up at the front of the church.

"You must tell him how well he does then, it must be a lot of work."

"You should tell him yourself, he likes to know his work is appreciated, even if he won't admit it." Damien looked over to the boy and called out, "Harry!" The child twisted around from where he had been working on the top corner of the window. "This is Albus Dumble- "

Damien did not finish the sentence. There was a sharp intake of breath from the man standing beside him, and Harry jerked wildly away from the two men, loosing his balance on the ladder.

The crack the boy's head made as it hit the stone floor of the church made Damien's blood run cold.

A/N Once again I'm _so_ sorry for the wait, sadly that big ugly thing called life managed to get in the way – I promise I'll try not to let it happen again. But on another note, what did we think of that? I'm bracing myself for the hate mail I'm going to get after the cliffie, but hey – at least I updated, right?!!


	19. Chapter 19

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Anyone who can't guess what I'm going to write here needs some serious help, (it's not mine).

**Author's Notes: **This chapter starts about ten seconds before the last one ended, enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen

Time stood still for Albus Dumbledore. His mind was trying desperately to process what he was seeing. It was Harry. He couldn't believe it. Harry was alive. In the time span of a second, a terrified expression exploded onto the boys face, and a terrible jolt ran through the child's body as he jerked away from where the old man stood.

Albus watched, horrified, as Harry lost his balance and fell backwards from the ladder where he stood. The man saw, as if in slow motion, as the boy arched his back, reaching out his hands to grab on to something to prevent his fall.

His head was the first thing to hit the floor, and an immense crack echoed throughout the otherwise silent church. Albus felt as if someone had just chucked a bucket of freezing cold water over him, while simultaneously hitting him with several stunning spells. He couldn't move.

The silence was broken by an anguished yell from the priest, and Albus felt the man spring into action beside him, running across to where Harry lay, unmoving.

o0o

It took several seconds for the reality of what had just happened to hit Damien, but when it did, it hit with the force of several very large buses. A wordless cry broke from his lips before he could stop it, and he flew across the room to where the child lay.

Kneeling down beside the boy, all he could see was the pool of blood that was slowly expanding on the floor under his head. Unaware of the desperate groaning coming from his mouth, the priest's hands danced lightly over the child's stricken form, not daring to actually touch him, but franticly wanting to do _something_.

The priest's movements kick started Albus into action. He hurried across the room to where Harry lay. Just one glance told him that the injury was fatal, there was way too much blood and the colour was fast leaving the boy's face. Albus was by no means a trained medi-wizard, but he knew a little more than the basics, and what he hoped would be enough to keep the child alive until more qualified help arrived.

These thoughts raced through Albus' mind before he even realised what he was thinking, and working on auto-pilot, he felt himself tell the priest to get help, and he drew his wand from his pocket. The muggle had already left, and Albus knew enough about non-magical society to know that there would soon be an ambulance at St Michaels Church.

The old man knew that muggle medicine was very effective, but was realistic enough to recognize that it would not be good enough or fast enough in this situation. So he began to mutter rapidly under his breath, weaving a spell that would bind Harry split skull and reattach severed blood vessels. This would be enough to keep the child alive, and he knew the muggle doctors would be able to do more yet, but what troubled him was the damage that might have been done on the inside. The old man knew that such a head injury could have disastrous effects, and he was working hard to keep the words 'brain damage' from entering his mind.

o0o

Damien was amazed that the woman on the other and of the phone line was able to decipher his urgent stuttering as he explained that he needed an ambulance, but in hardly any time at all she was assuring him that help was on its way and that he should just stay calm and sit tight until they arrived.

He rushed back into the church's main chamber where Harry lay, and was almost surprised to see the old man leaning over the child, he had practically forgotten about the man. But as he remembered in full what had happened and fumbled over the chain of events in his mind, he realised that it had been this man's appearance that had provoked such a reaction in the boy he had come to care for so much over the past weeks.

Mistrust began to rise in Damien's body, and he went over to where Harry's body was sprawled on the floor. Had the sight of the boy's prone form not reminded him just how serious the situation was, he probably would have demanded an explanation from the old man; but as it was, he just took the boys hand in his own and offered up a silent prayer of desperation.

o0o

Neither man could grasp onto any intelligible thought until sirens sounded in the street outside the church.

"Go and bring them in." Damien said coldly to the man who had so calmly walked into his life and casually caused it all to come crashing down around him. Albus was slightly shocked at hearing this, the old and powerful man was not used to receiving orders, but when he considered the situation, the priest had every right to be frosty and suspicious.

So Albus went out to fetch the paramedics.

Two men in reflective yellow jackets hurried into the church, ushered over to the alter by Albus Dumbledore. They ducked down beside Harry and immediately began running checks and making comments that meant nothing at all to the priest.

"Are you his guardian?" One of the men asked Damien.

"Yes," The man lied. Legally he wasn't Harry's guardian, but whoever was obviously hadn't done a very good job, and so Damien figured he would be forgiven for this particular lie.

"What's his name?" The paramedic asked, "Harry." Damien replied.

"Okay, we need to get him to the hospital ASAP, they can be much more help there."

"He's going to be okay then?" Damien asked desperately.

"I'm afraid it's too early to tell at the moment, but like I say we'll be able to help him much more once he's at the hospital."

Damien nodded and followed the two men out of the church, bearing Harry on a stretcher between them.

As he climbed into the back of the ambulance he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Dumbledore.

"I realise I am a complete stranger and right now Harry is the only important thing, but I can assure you that I care for this child very much and want only what is best for him. Please let me come with you."

Damien's suspicions were confirmed, "You know him then?" He said, feeling a little unsure of this man very and protective of Harry.

The paramedic interrupted before Albus could answer, "Look, whether you come or not Sir, we really have to get going, so a quick decision please."

Albus looked pleadingly at Damien. The priest considered it, and finally sighed in defeat.

"Fine, you can come. But I want answers."

Albus nodded, extremely grateful for the priest's trust.

And so the strange party set off for Limerick General Hospital, sirens blaring.


	20. Chapter 20

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine! Okay? NOT MINE!!

**Author's Notes: **Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry!!! I feel so awful that it's taken so long to update and I know there's nothing I can say to make up for it but I really am Sorry!

Chapter Twenty

The double doors to Limerick General's accident and emergency department crashed open as a trolley, complete with patient lying atop it, burst through in a flurry of paramedics and worried onlookers.

The boy on the trolley was rushed straight into resus. The two paramedics who had brought the child in began to inform the doctors and nurses in the department of his status.

"This is Harry; he's had a severe blow to the head and some pretty major blood loss. We haven't yet been able to determine if there's any damage to the skull but with the knock he's had I'd say it's pretty likely."

People were immediately swarming all over the boy, taking readings and urgently calling out orders and questions to others in the room. It seemed that no one even noticed the two oddly matched men standing slightly away from the commotion. Both men were fervently craning their necks to see what was happening to the child. Neither understood a word of what the doctors were saying, and both were completely caught up in their worry for the boy, practically forgetting that they were not alone.

Only when a young nurse approached them were they reminded of the other's presence.

"Excuse me," Ventured the nurse, "but is one of you a guardian?"

"Um," Damien replied quickly, "He's living with me at the moment, I don't believe he has any other family." The priest shot a glance at the older man standing next to him, daring him to interfere.

"Okay then, could you come with me please? There's some forms to fill in and suchlike." The nurse said, starting to lead the men out of the room.

"No! I mean, I want to stay with him. How is he anyway?" The priest asked urgently, realising he had been distracted, "Is he going to be Okay?" He pulled away from the nurse and made for the bed where Harry lay.

"No! Wait just a moment Sir!" The nurse hurried to cut him off. Standing directly in front of him she looked him in the eye and said, "The only thing you can do to help him is let the doctors do their job."

Damien saw the truth in these words, even if he didn't like it. "Okay, but please can you at least tell me if he's going to be alright?"

The nurse smiled gently, "I'll do my best, just wait over here for a bit, and try not to worry too much, he's in good hands."

And so Damien was left standing in the corner of a room full of bleeping machines, bustling medical staff, and a young boy whom he realised he cared for a lot more than he had originally thought.

Of course there was also the old man standing next to him; Damien took a moment to observe the bearded gentleman. He was wearing a suit of rather garish purple and blue, had a pair of spectacles perched on his nose, and currently looked just about as worried as Damien felt.

"You care for him don't you?" Damien asked.

"Yes," The man said wearily. "I have known him a long time, watched over him, and always tried to do what is best for him. I do pretend to have succeeded in my efforts. Harry has suffered hard for my mistakes and bad judgement."

He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Until I saw him today I believed Harry to be dead, it was somewhat of a shock to find him. I think it's safe to say I wasn't the only one to be surprised."

"You think?!" Damien was angry now, it was completely this _Dumbledore_'s fault that Harry was lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. And whatever Harry's life had been before he came to Limerick, this man had been charged with taking care of him – and it was perfectly clear that he had done a terrible job at it. Damien cringed at what the child must have been through because of this man's failures.

Damien stood stock still for several moments, fists clenched, fuming at the man before him. Just as he was about to begin ranting about how disgusted he was at Harry's wellbeing, he looked into the older man's eyes.

A deep light sparkled in the depths of the blue orbs, sorrow and guilt showing through as tears brimmed within them. The pain that Dumbledore clearly felt made Damien hesitate, after a moments thought, he decided that the man was punishing himself enough as it was. Besides, the priest's time would be much better spent finding out just what exactly had happened to Harry to cause the look of despair and regret that came into the child's eyes when he was left to his own thoughts.

Damien opened his mouth to ask whatever question his brain thought was the most important when the nurse returned to where they were standing.

"Well you'll be pleased to know that any immediate risk to the Harry's life is gone," Pause for relieved sighs, "However, he is being taken straight upstairs for surgery-"

"Surgery?!" Damien butted in, "You said he was going to be okay!"

"I said that the immediate risk had been removed, there is however still a large possibility that there could be some more serious damage. He has a fractured skull that will need to be attended to, something that will be done when he's under a full anaesthetic. And while he's in a secure state the surgeons will check for any further damage."

"B- brain damage? That's what you mean isn't it? He has brain damage?" Damien's voice wavered as he voiced his worries.

"We can't be sure until the surgeons have had a better look, and even then things won't be completely clear until he wakes up and we can asses his mental situation. For now however, you worrying yourself sick isn't going to do him any good, he really is been given the best possible care and attention, have faith Sir."

These words struck Damien like a physical force. _Have faith._ Faith was what he did best and he had lost it for a while back there. The nurse was right, worrying wouldn't help Harry in the slightest.

"Right, yes. Well is there anything I can do?" Damien said, his mind a little clearer.

"As a matter of fact yes," The nurse said, smiling calmly. "We need to access Harry's records, what's his surname?"

"Oh it's-" Damien hesitated, he didn't know. All this time he didn't even know the boy's last name. "It's-"

Damien was panicking now, he couldn't admit he didn't know, he had already said he knew Harry well enough to stand in as his guardian.

"It's Potter, Harry Potter." Came a calm voice. "I don't think you will be able to find his records though I'm afraid, he's new to the country."

"Okay then," said the nurse, "is there anything we should now about his medical history? Any allergies? Previous surgery?"

"No, nothing we have come across before," Dumbledore said, "And he has always been remarkably fit and healthy."

"Well that's a good thing then," the nurse smiled reassuringly, "He'll be taken up to surgery now, you can wait for him in the relatives room. Melanie will show you the way."

The nurse handed them over to another, younger looking woman, who took them to a small but comfortable waiting room where they could stay and await Harry's return.

As soon as the two men had declined Melanie's offer of tea, and been left alone, Damien looked at Dumbledore.

"Thank you," He said sincerely, "I- I can't believe I didn't even know his name."

"You may not have known his name, but I'm sure you know _him_ very well. Just the simple fact that he is here shows how little I really know him as a person."

Damien smiled and sighed, they had a lot to talk about.

A/N Once again – Sorry! Not just for the wait this time but also for the slight lack of actual plot in this chapter, but it _was_ necessary and I can GUARANTEE that the next wait won't be anywhere near as long. Sorry!


	21. Chapter 21

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **May I apologise, I have made a gross mistake. There will now be both gingerbread men and _women_ in my army. I feel very ashamed that I overlooked them, thanks to airguitarist012 for reminding me!

**Author's Notes: **It's short. Very short. Sorry.

Chapter Twenty-One

The two men sat in silence for some time, despite the questions that were burning just below their calm exteriors. Neither really knew how to act around this new person, and both felt a little intimidated by the other.

Damien had decided that tea was probably a good idea after all, and was currently sipping at what was probably extremely unhealthy after all the sugar he had put in it.

Albus was still working overtime to assimilate this new information, _Harry was alive. _He wondered what had happened to the boy, it had been almost three months since the Light's triumph over the Dark, Harry's triumph. Where had he been? Where did this other man come into it?

Albus might not know much about the priest sitting across the room from him, but it was obvious from his reaction to Harry's injury that he cared for the boy; and that more than qualified him as an alright person.

However, the revelation that Harry was alive also brought up some more worrying questions, why hadn't the boy come back after Voldemort's demise? Surely he would have wanted to see his friends, to finally live a life free of the terror that had plagued his early years, what had kept him from returning?

The old man's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Damien was looking at him expectantly.

Albus nodded lightly, and began explaining. "I don't know how much you already know about Harry…?"

Taking the hint, Damien replied, "Very little, I found him some time ago, he was in a bad way. I would like to think he is now a friend."

"He's living with you?"

"Yes, he was on the streets before I took him in." The resentment was apparent in his voice, and it was quite clear whom he blamed for Harry's bad state of affairs, although he prevented himself from throwing accusations at Dumbledore just yet; he needed to find out more about what exactly had happened to put the boy in such a bad way, and why no one had tried to help him.

Albus felt shame rise within him, the other man was right - he was more than responsible for Harry's problems. He was grateful, however, that the priest was hearing him out.

"Harry's life story is not a happy one. Both his parents died when he was very young, leaving him with very little family, and none that actually cared for him. It was at this time when I made one of my biggest mistakes, I sent Harry to live with his mother's sister and brother in law. I thought it was for the best, he was safe there and-"

"Why wouldn't he be safe elsewhere?" Damien butted in. This caused Albus to smile, the other man was clearly very astute.

"Harry's parents were murdered. The man who did this was still a potential threat, but Harry's aunt and uncle offered somewhere secure for him to grow up, away from any risk. I was right, he was safe there, but his childhood left much to be desired."

Damien frowned at his last comment, but let it go, making a mental note to ask exactly what Dumbledore meant later, and for now he let him go on, taking another mouthful of tea.

"I am the Headmaster at a school in the north of Scotland, Harry's parents, who also attended this school, had always intended for him to there. And so when he turned eleven, Harry started at Hogwarts."

At this point Albus stopped talking abruptly as Damien spat the tea that had been in his mouth just a moment ago, halfway across the room.

"WHAT?! Harry's a _WIZARD?_"

A/N Sorry it's so short, and… er, sorry about… that last bit…


	22. Chapter 22

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: ** Harry Potter and everything else in the Potterverse is licensed exclusively to me. It's mine. No… wait… _damn._

**Author's Notes: **Yes I know, I'm an evil heartless cruel person who doesn't update half as often as she should. Sorry. I am currently revising for my exams which are next week, and so am very busy, but I will try to keep it coming. Thank you very much to those of you who are being patient with me

Chapter Twenty-Two

Damien Moore was born to Angeline and Patrick Moore in the summer of 1952. They were a reputable family, Patrick, a successful businessman, and Angeline, his obliging wife. The Moores were fiercely Catholic, and always had strong views on what was right, and what was not.

Patrick Moore was swollen with pride when his son was born. This was his heir, and he would be brought up in the proper fashion. Damien attended Mass every Sunday and was tutored at home by an elderly man called Brother Francis; he was a monk in a local monastery, but was employed by the Moores to take care of their son.

When Damien was four, his mother gave birth to a girl, his sister, Elizabeth. It was planned since day one that Elizabeth Moore would enter into a convent and become a nun as soon as she was old enough. But until then, she lived at home with her brother.

Damien and Elizabeth were inseparable. They spent all their free time playing together. Acting out childhood fantasies, and exploring the massive grounds of the manor house belonging to their parents. Despite being quite a bit older, Damien held his sister in high regards. She often sat in on his lessons with Brother Francis, and normally understood things a lot better than him, despite the fact that the monk refused point blank to acknowledge her presence.

But Elizabeth Moore wasn't just clever, she was immensely lucky, too lucky in fact. When locked in her room for getting her Sunday dress dirty, the door would miraculously spring open, allowing her and Damien to go down to the brook in the orchard to play cowboys and Indians. If told she had to attend a luncheon with her mother at the home of a rich duchess, the car would unexplainably break down, and she would be free to fight evil fairies with her brother in the top paddock.

But when Damien turned eleven, his father decided it was time for him to grow up, no more play, he was sent to attend a boarding school in the south of Ireland. The school was bearable, and Damien wanted nothing more than to please his father, but he missed his Elizabeth terribly.

Damien whiled away every term spent at school by looking forward to the day when he would be able to return home to his sister. And when he did, things were always the same as they had been, his sister might have grown an inch or two, but they still fought together alongside menacing pirates, and searched for hidden treasure in the attic. Still went on expeditions of discovery through the wine cellars, leaving their normal lives behind, and entering a world of mystery and excitement.

But one holiday was different. It was summer, Damien was looking forward to a whole six weeks in his sister's company, a whole six weeks with nothing to worry about except whether they would be able to evade their mother long enough to finally steal some rope from the gardener's shed and make a swing in the orchard.

Things were normal to begin with, Damien was fifteen now, but he took no less pleasure in the games of his childhood than he used to. He worried slightly that Elizabeth might grow out of their fun, but she didn't, even now, aged eleven, she was still eager to enter the world of magic and fantasy.

They spent the first two weeks happily, even managing to commandeer a short plank of wood to use as a seat for the swing. But then, at the beginning of the third week, a letter came. Not through the letter box, but through the window, in the claws of a large tawny owl.

It came at breakfast, provoking a scream from Mrs Moore, and a vicious yet terrified look from Mr Moore. The owl left quickly, leaving a terrified Angeline, a mortified Patrick, an utterly confused Damien, and a thick envelope in the lap of Elizabeth.

Her father snatched it before she even had a chance to take in the fact that an owl had just given her a letter, _maybe it was a hallucination_. At reading the address on the front of the envelope, Patrick Moore's hands began to shake. He broke the wax seal and took out the letter.

Damien watched his father's face as he read the letter. It didn't look good. Patrick Moore wasn't particularly quick to anger, but when he _was_ angry, you ran for cover, no questions asked. His voice when he finally spoke was low and deadly.

"Damien, get out."

"But-"

"GET OUT!"

Damien ran. He left the dining room and ran straight up to his own room, where he immediately regretted it. Whatever that letter was, it was about his sister, it had been given to her, and Patrick had not made her leave. She was in trouble and he had just run away. But what on earth could she have done?

Before having a chance to consider what Elizabeth could have done to invoke such anger in his father, the housekeeper came up to his room.

"Good morning Sir. Your Mother wishes me to tell you you're to stay in your room for the day, the door will be locked."

And she left. Damien was left alone in his room, and unlike some, locks didn't turn at his command. He didn't know what to do; he was terrified for his sister, and angry with his parents. He felt completely helpless, and so turned to the only person he knew of who could help in such a situation.

Damien Moore, aged fifteen, sat on his bedroom floor, crying, and prayed.

o0o

Damien only saw his sister twice more after that day. But he heard about her. A lot. His father came to him, several days after the arrival of the strange letter, and explained the situation.

Elizabeth was a witch.

Damien could hardly believe it, but his father assured him it was true. There were hundreds of them, witches and wizards; they had their own towns and shops, their own schools. That was what the letter had been, Elizabeth was supposed to go to a witch school called Hogwarts.

Upon hearing his father explain this, Damien was filled with awe and a strange pride for his sister, she was special. But all thoughts of admiration were immediately dashed by his father.

Patrick Moore knew what his daughter was. She was a servant of the devil. A witch. He was disgusted to think he could have played a part in creating such an evil life. In fact, not long after the discovery, he became convinced that his wife must have had an affair, and threw her out.

He had always known there was something wrong with the girl, she was always off playing wicked games, and leading Damien astray. First the man tried exorcisms, and when that didn't work, he simply gave up on his daughter, and threw her out, but not before he broke her. The Elizabeth Moore who was dumped in an orphanage not long after her twelfth birthday was dead on the inside, convinced that she was a slave to all that was evil.

Damien tried on countless occasions to change his father's mind about the situation, but all he got in return was the same words, sometimes spoken as if he were an ignorant child, and sometimes shouted at him in frustration and anger:

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"

o0o

As soon as he was sixteen, Damien ran away. His mother was gone, his sister was gone, and his father was driven mad by his need to purge his family of a none existent evil.

For a long time Damien was unsettled by his father's claims that he had been doing God's will by getting rid of Elizabeth. But after much thought and many tears, Damien understood that his father was mislead by his own inability to understand the meaning of what it meant to be Christian.

He forgave his father, he mourned his family, and he joined the church.

o0o

"I never found my sister," the priest said sadly, recounting the tale of his childhood to the bearded man who sat with him. "I never knew what happened to her."

"We could help." The older man said. "We have ways of finding people, we can help."

Damien looked up into the man's eyes, they showed nothing but concern and an honest wish to help.

"Thank you, that would be… thank you. But for now, Harry is the priority. Tell me about Harry"

A/N Not really sure how people are gonna react to this, let me know what you think anyway, even if it's bad.


	23. Chapter 23

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I'm getting so bored of saying this. Not mine.

**Author's Notes: **sorry it's late, hope you enjoy, yadda yadda yadda - you know the drill.

Chapter Twenty-Three

"_I never found my sister," the priest said sadly, recounting the tale of his childhood to the bearded man who sat with him. "I never knew what happened to her."_

"_We could help." The older man said. "We have ways of finding people, we can help."_

_Damien looked up into the man's eyes, they showed nothing but concern and an honest wish to help. _

"_Thank you, that would be… thank you. But for now, Harry is the priority. Tell me about Harry"_

o0o

"Yes indeed, Harry is of main concern." Agreed Albus. "Well, where was I?"

"Hogwarts" Damien prompted, his voice small and flat.

"Ah yes. Harry came to Hogwarts. I won't go into too much detail, but his first year was surprisingly eventful, and at the tender age of eleven, Harry proved himself to be more mature and more powerful than I had ever dared to imagine."

The old man paused, his eyes showing the sorrow of a hundred past memories.

"What happened?" Damien pressed, eager to hear what had led to Harry's current situation.

"The man, the _wizard,_ who killed Harry's parents attempted to return to power. He tried to steal a certain artefact that would aid him greatly in his fight for domination. Harry stopped him. Eleven years old, only one year of training, and Harry overcame him again."

"_Again?_"

"oh yes, sorry. I didn't mention it earlier as I was not aware of your knowledge of the wizarding world. But on the night Harry's parents were killed, when he himself was just a baby, he did something that was previously considered impossible."

Albus paused, "I'm not sure how easy this will be to understand without a fuller knowledge of spellwork and magic…"

"It's fine, tell me anyway."

"Very well. There is a curse, the killing curse, that can not be stopped or countered in any way. In other words, if someone casts this particular spell on you, you're going to die, no questions asked. However, when Harry was held subjected to the curse, he survived."

Damien looked mildly surprised, but not greatly so. Albus frowned slightly; as a muggle, this man could not comprehend the gravity of these words.

"You have to understand," The older man continued, "this is completely unheard of. It is as if a muggle, a non-magical person, suddenly sprouted wings and flew away."

Damien's eyebrows raised slightly, "Quite a feat then." He said.

"Yes," Agreed Albus, "it was quite something. Moreover, Harry performed a further miracle that night. The spell that was cast upon him, for some reason backfired, and instead affected the caster. Unfortunately this particular wizard had taken certain precautions, and had inflicted upon himself spells and enchantments that prevented him from dying properly, hence his return during Harry's first year of Hogwarts."

Damien sat quietly for several minutes, taking in this information. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet yet firm.

"So Harry encountered this man twice, and survived on both occasions, against all the odds?"

"Yes," Confirmed Albus. "However, these meetings between the two of them were only the first of many."

Albus then continued to tell the story of Harry's time at Hogwarts, with Damien interrupting periodically to question certain points.

As the elderly headmaster reached the point of Harry's journey into the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, Damien held up his hand to pause the retelling.

"Wait, you allowed a twelve year old boy to attempt to fight a foe that even grown men shied away from?!"

Shame was etched clearly into every line that marked the old man's face.

"I feel nothing but regret for the mistakes I made during Harry's time in my care. I am truly sorry."

Damien could see that the man's words were sincere, but it didn't stop him silently fuming at this man's stupidity.

As Albus continued with his story, Damien stopped him several more times to berate and rebuke the old man for allowing Harry to put himself into unnecessary and terrible danger.

By the time Albus' narrative reached Harry's time in the maze during the third task of the Triwazard Tournament, Damien's hands were clasped tightly around the arms of his chair to prevent them shaking with rage. His knuckles were white and his face pinched.

Albus told of the betrayal that night, and of how Harry's enemy had finally triumphed in his fight for life.

"And so he won. After years of struggling, Voldemort overcame the barriers between life and death, crashing into the world of the living."

Damien opened his mouth to shout something that would probably cause his priesthood to be revoked if heard by the wrong people, when he registered exactly what the old man had just said.

The priest took several deep, ragged breaths, and said in barely more than a whisper, "Voldemort?"

"Yes, that was his name, or at least that was what he chose to be called. Lord Voldemort."

Damien's eyes widened, the world spinning around him in a whirl of colour and sound.

Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort.

_Property of Lord Voldemort._

Damien turned his face away from the older man as anger coursed through him, split between the monster that had hurt his Harry, and the coward that had let it happen.

He closed his eyes, breathed in air that burnt his lungs like white hot flames, and prayed for the trembling to stop.

o0o

Reliving his past mistakes was the hardest thing Albus had done in a very long time. But he fully appreciated that it was necessary for both himself and for Damien; not to mention for Harry.

It was clear from the priest's comments and his stance that he was enraged to hear of the pain Harry had been through that could have been prevented. And Albus accepted the blame fully.

But despite the hurt it caused him, and the angry glare aimed at him across the small coffee table, Albus ploughed on, telling the priest all of the main points surrounding Harry's life.

When he reached Voldemort's rebirth however, there was a change in the priest; centred unexpectedly, around Voldemort's name.

Damien did not appear to be afraid or shocked, as would be expected by an ordinary witch or wizard, but neither did he ignore the significance of the name, as would be expected from your average muggle.

Instead, what Albus witnessed seemed to be overwhelming anger and disgust. The priests breathing became uneven and shallow, his eyes glazed over and his body trembled.

Unsure of what could have provoked such a reaction, Albus stared in shock for several seconds.

Eventually, Damien turned his face away, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. This prompted Albus into action.

"Father Moore?" The old man reached out a hand. "Damien?"

As he placed a hand on the man's shoulder, Damien looked up at him. Behind the priest's eyes Albus saw a deep sorrow and resentment.

Understanding, Albus spoke again.

"Voldemort. I take it you've heard of him?"

Damien bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving those of the older man.

In that moment, the two men shared a common goal, a common need. The need to protect a little boy from an evil more terrifying than most people would ever encounter in their entire lives.

Even though it now seemed that that evil had changed. It had moved from the physical, and morphed into an invisible foe, praying upon the mind of one Harry Potter.


	24. Chapter 24

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine, I do however own a lovely pair of black jeans…

**Author's Notes: **Okay so I wanted to address a point that comes up in practically review I get. _My chapters are short_. I realise this is reeealy frustrating for you guy's, and I'm truly sorry. I can assure you I'm working on it and you'll all be pleased to know this is my longest chapter yet to date! Once again thank you for reading, and of course thanks for all the lovely feedback!!

Chapter Twenty-Four

The two men talked quietly for several more minutes, Albus telling Damien of Harry's capture by the Death Eaters, his defeat of the Dark Lord, and his subsequent disappearance.

Damien's head was spinning by the end of it all. Before, Harry had been a lonely young boy, abused, neglected and left out in the rain. But now, he was Harry Potter, a wizard, a hero, tortured, burnt, and abandoned.

His heart went out to the child. He had always felt sorry for Harry, but now it was different somehow. The sheer massiveness of what the boy had been through was overwhelming. He was proud of Harry. The boy had pulled through, despite the world of hurt and sadness that had opposed him. He also felt a little in awe of the child, who had done so much good in his short life.

The priest was deep in thought when the door to the small waiting room opened. Melanie, the nurse who had helped them earlier stepped into the room. Both men stood up abruptly, panicking.

The nurse smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. He's out of theatre, he'll definitely make it."

Albus let his eyes flicker closed, and Damien let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Can I see him?" The priest asked.

"Of course, the doctors will need to talk to you anyway. He's in intensive care at the moment, so try not to be alarmed by the machines and suchlike, they're just there to make sure he stays safe."

Damien nodded, heading for the door.

"Will you be coming too sir?" The nurse asked Albus. This made Damien stop, he turned back to the older man, his gaze steady and straightforward.

"I don't think that's a very good idea." Said the priest. He turned towards the door, going to leave, when he stopped again.

"At least… not yet." He added, not looking around at the older man; and proceeded to walk swiftly out of the door.

Melanie led him down a maze of corridors to the intensive care ward, where he was taken into a smaller room, with a sign on the door saying 'Adolescent C'.

Within the room was a single bed, surrounded by several steadily beeping machines. Lying on the bed, was a very pale looking Harry.

There was a white gauze bandage wrapped around the crown of his head, several strands of dark hair protruding from under it and lying again against his face in stark contrast to the white of his skin. A thin clear tube wound under his nose, two smaller ones branching off from the main and disappearing into the child's nose. There were other tubes entering his body in other places. A thick one attached to the crook of his elbow, just above a short white scar, was administering a saline drip. And another was pushed under the skin of his right hand.

Just seeing the boy in this condition brought tears to Damien's eyes. This child, who had been through so much, struck down and lain out before him.

The priest walked across the room to the side of the bed and took Harry's hand. It was bony and limp in his own.

"I want to stay with him"

"Of course. I'll just tell the doctor's you're here, I think there's a few things they need to chat with you about." And with that the young woman left the two of them alone.

Damien pulled up a chair and sat down next to Harry's bed. Softly, he murmured words over the seemingly lifeless body. Taking the child's hand and enveloping it in his own, the priest let his eyes flutter closed, and he began to pray.

o0o

Damien had no idea how long he had been sitting at Harry's side, everything in the room was still, aside from the consistent beep of the machines, the steady rise and fall of the young boy's chest, and the occasional visit from a nurse.

The priest had been left with sufficient food for thought. His mind was still reeling at the surprises of earlier in the day. Harry was a wizard. _Magical_. He felt in awe of Harry's abilities not only the way the child could bend the laws of physics and nature at his will, but also the way in which he had chosen to use these powers. God had blessed the child with immense gifts of influence and control, and Harry had applied them to the world, in a way that had been both selfless and loving.

The revelation that Harry was a wizard also led Damien's mind to his sister; a place he rarely dared to venture any more. The loss of one so close to him had struck the man hard, and even though he had long ago come to terms with the events, it still pained him to think of the girl whom he couldn't help; whom he couldn't even find.

Although it seemed their might be a glimmer of hope in that direction now. Maybe, with the help of the wizarding community, he could find his sister; or at least find out what had happened to her. Perhaps Harry would like to help him when he had recovered. Because the boy _would_ recover. Of course he would

Damien's thoughts were still trying to process all this new information when a tall smartly dressed man entered the room, followed closely by an older looking woman with a kind, reassuring face.

"Good evening Father Moore. I was wondering if we could have quick word?" The man said.

Damien nodded. "Of course" He said, his voice scratchy from recent lack of use, and the tears the priest had let fall.

The man smiled. "Wonderful, I am Mr Edwards, one of the surgeons who operated on Harry earlier, and this is Doctor Harrison from our psychiatric department."

Damien's eyebrows raised slightly at hearing the woman's occupation, but pushed his questions regarding her aside in favour of asking about Harry.

"You operated on him? So you know if he'll be ok?"

"I'm pleased to say the immediate threat to Harry's life is over," The man said as he moved to stand at the foot of Harry's bed. "His condition is stable and he should wake up some time over the next few days."

"And if he doesn't?" Damien asked, voice wavering precariously.

"He will, Father Moore, please do not fret. I cannot however guarantee his state of mind upon awakening. It is impossible to tell how much damage has been done, and in what way, until he wakes, when we will be able to better assess the situation."

Damien nodded, he had expected that. "Is that why _you're_ here then?" He asked, gesturing towards the female doctor.

It was the surgeon, Mr Edwards who responded to Damien's question. "Doctor Harrison is here at my request, Father Moore. I felt I required her presence to ask you some questions about Harry."

Damien fought to keep his face inconspicuous. Surely they couldn't suspect Harry's magical origins? What on earth would he say if they did?

The surgeon spoke again, his voice low and calm; and in a way, almost patronising.

"Remind me again how old Harry is Father Moore?"

Damien's mind flickered back to when Harry had told him his age. Damien had often tried to guess how old the boy was, but found it impossible. His body suggested he was young, no more than fifteen years of age. The introvert side to his personality added to this side of the argument. However Harry's eyes told a different story, the age hidden behind those green orbs was incomprehensible; and the look the boy got sometimes told of a thousand long lived memories.

Of course now Damien understood the gravity of what Harry was remembering when he went into that trance like state where he seemed to have the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

"He's seventeen." Damien replied.

The other man nodded, the woman making some short notes.

"And he lives with you?"

"Yes, I took him in. He had no one before that."

The other occupants of the room exchanged glances.

"Okay then Father, how long has Harry been living with you?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure. It must be around six weeks now. Seven at the most."

The surgeon seemed to relax a little at this. Smiling reassuringly, he asked another question.

"Do you know anything of where Harry came from before you met him Father Moore?"

Damien took a breath to answer, then let it go.

"Sorry," He said, "Could I ask why exactly you need to know this?"

The other man looked uncomfortable and turned to the woman. She approached Damien slightly.

"The thing is Father Moore, we here at Limerick General take the safety and wellbeing of our patients very seriously. It would seem young mister Potter's situation might warrant some slight examination."

This remark confused Damien completely. Harry's _situation_? What on earth was that supposed to mean?

And that was when it hit him. These people were doctors, they had worked on Harry's body, repairing the damage that had been done. They were hardly going to have kept their eyes shut, they must have seen his scars. And Damien fully agreed that anyone found to have been through something quite so terrible was quite qualified for some _slight examination._

Upon realising this, Damien knew better how to answer the questions put to him.

"As I'm sure you have both realised, Harry's past has left much to be desired. But I can fully assure you that he is currently in no danger whatsoever, and never again will be if _I_ have anything to do with it."

These last words were spoken with slightly more aggression than Damien had intended, and he had to remind himself to stay composed. He had never had problems with such things in the past, but Harry had had an effect on him that he had never predicted. He cared greatly for the boy, and was not opposed to breaking just a few of his morals to protect him.

Both of the other adults in the room seemed to take a minute to process the information given to them, and then appeared to come to the same decision.

The man smiled sincerely, and the woman spoke out. "It would appear that Harry is lucky to have you looking out for him Father Moore. Remember that if either you or Harry ever need someone to talk to, our services are available."

Damien smiled, "Thank you."

Mr Edwards opened the door for the two of them to leave. Before exiting the room he turned back to the priest.

"Try and get some sleep Damien. You can best help Harry by staying healthy and alert yourself. That means lots of rest. I can assure you Harry will not wake just yet, so you are safe to leave and grab a bit to eat as well, maybe run home for a few supplies? I will return in the morning to check on you both."

And with one last smile, the man left.

As the door swung closed behind him, Damien whispered his thanks, and turned back to his young charge.

Reaching over to brush the hair away from Harry's face, he spoke softly. "What are we going to do with you eh? Can't stay out of trouble for two minutes. Although I must admit, trouble does seem to follow you around."

Smiling wearily, Damien once again took the boy's hand, and settled into a reasonably comfortable position of his chair. Perhaps getting some sleep wasn't such a bad idea after all.


	25. Chapter 25

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **Urgh, still not mine.

**Author's Notes: **I have written and re-written this chapter countless times and it's still not right. In the end I've decided to just put it up as it is and hope for the best, although I feel obliged to apologise in advance for the poor quality of this particular stage of the story. On a slightly happier note, I'm still trying really hard to get them longer, and once again this is the longest one yet. Happy reading!

Chapter Twenty-Five

Harry was surrounded.

He could feel it. It was pushing in on him, compressing his mind, constricting his body.

He was drowning. Trapped in a swirling hubbub of pain and uncertainty. He could feel himself sinking down through the thick confusion that enclosed him. Panicking, he struggled, he tried flailing his limbs in an attempt to swim upwards, but they were stiff and unmoving, as if locked in place by some unknown force. Trying to breathe he found he could only suck in the thick, slimy substance that surrounded him; it filled his lungs and tightened his chest.

His head began to pound as his senses told it that no oxygen could be found. Terror overcame him as he made one last futile attempt at breaking free of the fear that surrounded him and kept him locked up.

Just as he was resigning himself to a never ending battle with a force that seemed to defy his existence, he broke through. Smashing through the barriers that surrounded him with force enough to send them shattering into thousands of pieces which reflected the newly found light into Harry's sensitive and recently opened eyes.

He gulped air into his body as if he had been deprived of it for days. It seemed to burn as he forced it through his lungs, scraping at the sensitive lining of his throat. The light hurt his eyes and made him wince, and the silence that surrounded him roared in his ears.

He had no idea where he was, or why, and as this realisation hit, he began to panic. Dots danced before his eyes as his breathing became shallow and laboured.

Recognising the need to calm down, he slowed his breathing, and closed his eyes.

After what seemed to be a couple of minutes, Harry reopened his eyes and forced himself to observe his surroundings.

He was flat on his back. Directly in front of his still stinging eyes was a bright white ceiling, flecked with tiny specks of pink. He stared up at this sight for some time, finding that if he changed the focus of his eyes, or stared for long enough, the definition between the two colours was lost completely, and the whole thing blurred into one off-white mess. He explored the patterns and pictures made by the specks of colour, and marvelled at how he could make them morph into something else at his very whim.

This captivated the boy's curiosity for almost twenty minutes, he was in awe of the straightforwardness of the design, and how something so simple could become a maze of wonder, if observed in the right manner.

A slight stirring near his left arm brought him out of his world of fantasy and wonder. This caused his mind to revert back to the situation at hand, where was he again?

Harry considered the situation, he didn't know how he had come to be in this place, and this confused him. He tried to reach back into his mind and examine what had last happened to him, but found he couldn't quite reach it.

He went back further, trying to remember a specific occurrence or incident, but once again found the images just out of reach. He did however, have a feeling of, well, he didn't know what it was really; just some kind of feeling of… _existence. _A memory of being alive, of being _there._

The thing moved again. Harry's curiosity spiked, bringing with it a spark of fear.

Slowly he became aware of the movement in the corner of his vision, as a figure rose up beside his bed.

It was a man.

Harry stopped panicking. There was no reason to be afraid; he realised that now. Though why he knew it was still a mystery.

He kept his eyes locked on the other person, and observed as he rubbed his eyes groggily, and stretched his limbs. The man pulled his eyes wide, assimilating to the bright light of the room. As his line of vision fell, his eyes looked down on Harry.

He smiled friendlily down at him, then jerked his head away sharply, as if only just taking in what he was seeing.

"Harry!" exclaimed the man.

_Yes, _thought Harry contentedly,_ that's me._

o0o

Damien felt as if he had slept for hours, which in fact he probably had; however it was not the kind of sleep that leaves you refreshed and ready, but the type that makes you feel slow and bleary. His senses were fogged up and his awareness lazy and groggy.

He raised his body from the bed he was leaning on, and lifted his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes.

As he became used to the harsh, white light of the room, he glanced around, and saw Harry gazing up at him intently, from where he lay on the bed. The boy's eyes were glassy, and shone slightly, reflecting the brightness of the room.

Damien smiled. Harry was awake.

Wait, _Harry was awake?!_

Shock flooded him and he flinched at the sudden realisation.

"Harry!"

The boy smiled very gently, but otherwise did not acknowledge Damien's presence.

Damien stared blankly for another second, before exploding into action.

"Harry! Are you alright? How are you feeling? Wait- let me get a doctor,"

And he rushed from the room, leaving the boy lying on his bed, still smiling slightly.

o0o

Damien returned within minutes, bringing with him both a nurse and a doctor. He looked as if he was jammed in between being over the moon with joy, and overwhelmed with worry and fear.

The doctor he had brought was one he hadn't had any dealings with before, as her shift had only started an hour or so ago, but the young woman seemed warm and professional.

The nurse walked over to the far side of the bed and began to change the drip which was attached to Harry's forearm, while the doctor went straight to Harry.

"Good morning Harry! It's great to see you awake, how are you feeling?" She said as she walked over to the bed, and lifted Harry's wrist from where it lay, searching for his pulse.

Harry smiled as she spoke; her voice was happy and caring. Overall, he was feeling okay, although his head was throbbing terribly, and he was rather confused as to what had happened. All these thoughts went through his head quite quickly, and he was pleased that this woman would be able to tell him why he was there, and hopefully put a stop to this headache, but he didn't say anything.

This confused him slightly, _answer her, _he thought. But it wouldn't come. He didn't know quite what to say, or which words would explain his answer properly.

Finally, in his need to say _something,_ he let out a jerky, guttural "I- , a- a- I" But upon realising his complete lack of sense, he stopped and scrunched his face, feeling the headache more than ever.

"Okay honey," Said the doctor calmly. "Don't worry, I just want you to relax for a second while I check that you're doing okay, and then we'll have a chat about what's happened to you, I 'm sure this is all very confusing, hmm?" She smiled at him, and the expression calmed him slightly, although the pain in his head was growing rapidly.

The two women bustled around Harry for another minute or so, with Damien hovering in the background worriedly. The older woman asked the nurse to go and fetch something for her, and the nurse left.

The doctor pulled up two chairs to Harry's bed, and beckoned to Damien, who walked over and lowered himself into one of them, smiling down at Harry.

"Okay then Honey," the woman began, "My names Doctor Andrews, and I'd like to have a talk with you, is that okay?"

Harry's mouth jerked into a slight smile, showing both acceptance and some slight confusion.

"Do you understand Harry?" asked the woman. Harry furrowed his brow, strained a little, and then seemed to change his mind, and jerkily nodded his head upwards.

Doctor Andrews smiled, "That's great Hon."

Damien watched the short exchange with trepidation, he was pleased that Harry seemed aware of his surroundings and appeared to understand what was happening, but something was obviously out of place.

The priest's foremost fear was that Harry would loose his awareness completely, and become nothing more than an empty shell; this fear had, thankfully, been driven away; but it was now replaced with other uncertainties. Had the child lost his memory? Did he even know who Damien was?

"Do you know where you are at the moment Harry?" The woman asked, Harry's face once again got that strained look, as if he were searching for something.

Just as the boy opened his mouth, the door to the room opened, and in walked the nurse from earlier, carrying a shallow basin containing a syringe and two small bottles of clear liquid.

As soon as Damien and the doctor took this in, they turned back to look at Harry, but he seemed to have lost what he had been on the verge of saying, and was once more looking forward intently, probing through his consciousness for whatever it was he could not find.

The nurse walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, beaming at Harry. "Hi," she said, quietly.

"This is Nurse Jenkins Harry," said the doctor, "She needs to give you some medicine, is that okay?"

Harry nodded jerkily once again. But brought up his hand as the nurse advanced. He was not signalling her to stop, so much as he seemed to be trying to communicate some kind of need. He gestured, as someone might when trying to get across a particularly important point in a conversation.

Once again he was trying to say something, he opened his mouth, began to form the beginnings of words, ideas, questions, but they flew away just as he began to make the speech. Finally, giving up in frustration, he made a short noise of irritation.

The doctor stood, "Okay Harry, try not to fret, this is going to be hard, but we're going to get you through it okay? Just relax, yes? Okay. Can you try and show me what it is that's bothering you? It doesn't matter if you can't, just take it slowly,"

Harry looked thoughtful for a second, and then raised his hand up to his head, he placed his palm against his temple, and made a slight whimpering noise.

The sound was so hopeless and pathetic that it tugged mercilessly at Damien's heart, and he stood abruptly, striding over to Harry's side and taking his hand.

The change had come across the child so abruptly that it took the priest by surprise, only minutes before Harry had been smiling quite contentedly; now, a fat tear was squeezing out of the side of Harry's eye, and his expression was despondent.

"Okay Harry, I see, it's hurting? Yes?" Harry made and affirmative noise in the back of his throat. "Alright, don't worry, we'll sort that right away." The woman turned to the nurse and began to instruct in a calm voice.

Damien turned back to Harry, who now had tears flowing steadily down his face. Damien felt as if someone had physically assaulted him, it killed him inside to see Harry so distressed.

"Shhh," he said, "Don't fret child, I'm here, everything's going to be fine, you're going to be just fine."

He clutched the boy's hand, and was reassured to feel him squeeze back.

o0o

Harry was so confused, he just didn't understand. It had been alright just a while ago, as if he were all wrapped up in something that was keeping him sane, but now he just didn't know. He didn't understand.

He was thinking quite clearly, but couldn't find the words to voice his thoughts or questions. He knew there was a reason for him being here, he could sense it, just out of reach. And this man at his side, Harry knew him, he was safe, comforting; but Harry couldn't place how they had been involved, or how they came to know each other. And his head, his head was hurting so much. He hadn't even noticed to begin with, but now it was throbbing with such anger and pain that Harry couldn't help but let the tears fall.

The doctor who had talked to him was walking back over now. "Okay Harry, I can see this is very hard, don't worry, there's some relief on the way. We'll get you feeling better in no time."

The doctor was accurate in her prediction, and the nurse returned within a minute or two, but to Harry it felt like an eternity. An eternity of pain and confusion. And he just didn't understand.

But when help finally did come, it was almost instantaneous, he was completely unaware of the injection he was given, caught up in the pain of his head, but he felt the effects right away. It was as if a cool hand were gently stroking his brow, chasing away the hurt, covering it up, and clearing his head.

Harry opened his eyes, having been unaware up until that point that they had been closed at all.

He saw two people looking down at him. One was the man he knew, but couldn't quite place, and the other was a new man.

"There you go kid, that better?" said the new man. Harry was confused by his appearance, but moved his head in a slow nod.

"Good, I'm John. I'm a doctor here." Harry's expression must have betrayed his thoughts, and the new doctor laughed a little. "Yes, that's right, _another_ doctor! Sorry about that, this must be a little confusing. Doctor Andrews called me because I know more about what's happened to you, and I can help you better than her. She hasn't abandoned you though!" he said gesturing to the foot of the bed, where both the female doctor and the nurse from earlier stood smiling, albeit slightly concernedly.

Harry smiled back, although had to look away, because it hurt his neck to lift his head up from the bed to look at them. Obviously seeing this, the male doctor spoke again, "Would you like to sit up a little Harry? Make you a bit more comfortable?"

Harry nodded, and the man adjusted some controls attached to the bed which caused the whole of the bit that supported his head and back to rise up automatically.

Harry smiled at this, _magic,_ he thought.

"There you go!" said John, "That better?" Harry nodded again, realising how repetitive he was becoming. He wanted to thank this man, but it wasn't there, it wouldn't come. He got slightly angry at this, it was stupid! Just thank him! But how? Harry thought hard, I want to thank him, I need to say thank you, and that was it! Those were the words!

He forced his mouth to form the new found words, and said shakily, "Thank you".

The doctor smiled, "That's quite alright kid, it's what I'm here for. Now lets get you all sorted out."

Damien's heart leapt at the sound of Harry speaking, he didn't even know why, but the boy had obviously found it hard. Head trauma affecting speech? It was not anything Damien had ever heard of before, but then again, he was definitely no expert in the matter.

The two women had now left, and John had sat down, indicating that Damien should do the same. The priest liked this new doctor; he seemed more personal, more forthcoming.

"Alright then Harry. You are currently in hospital, you had that one worked out already I assume?" John said, half teasingly. Harry nodded, smiling, slightly embarrassed.

"Good. Right, next question – maybe a bit harder – do you know how you came to be here?"

Harry dropped his eyes, feeling useless in the eyes of this question; no, he did not know what had happened to him. Or in fact, who _him_ was.

He shook his head.

"Okay, don't worry, that's extremely common after and injury like yours, and is by no means a permanent thing, there's lots of things we can do to help you remember. Can you remember much at all?"

Another shake.

"Okay, what about Damien here," he said, indicating the man beside Harry.

_Damien!_ Of course! He remembered the name, he knew the name. This man was Damien, he was… a friend? Family?

Harry wasn't sure how to answer the question. He nodded his head, then shook, then shrugged his shoulders; all the time very aware of the fact he was holding this man's hand, and he was sitting right beside him.

John chuckled a little, "Not sure huh? Well don't dwell on that just for the moment, I want to talk to you about a couple of other things. You've had a nasty blow to the head Harry, very nasty. When you came in to the hospital, you were in a very bad way, so we took you into theatre and patched you up. With me so far? Good. Now, there are lots of different complications that come with head trauma, and every person is different. Now, obviously, this is just me talking, but I'm going to go through with you what I think is wrong, okay? And if I get something wrong, or you disagree, just stop me, yes?"

Harry nodded, he understood.

"Good. Now, I think that because of you having that hit on the head, you've undergone some brain damage. I know that sounds awful – but please try not to panic or worry too much, you seem to be doing very well considering what you've been through. You seem to be fully aware of you surroundings, and you're understanding everything that's happening, and that's really good. However, you're having some problems communicating with me, am I right?"

Another nod.

"Okay, well this is something very easy to pinpoint and define. What I think has happened, is that you've damaged the part of your brain called the Broca's area, which is just here," he said, gently placing two fingers on the side and towards the front of Harry's head. "This part of your brain is the bit concerned with producing speech. Because it's been damaged, I think you're having some problems expressing yourself, finding it hard to find the right words?"

Another nod, accompanied by a worried look, and wide eyes.

"This problem is known as _aphasia, _and is something that a lot of people who've suffered brain damage struggle with. Form what I've seen from you today, I think you have quite a severe case of this, but it's honestly not something to get worked up about, so please try not to worry. Your condition is not permanent, and we can help you through it, to get you back to your old self. Unfortunately there is no quick way to cure aphasia, and the process relies almost completely on you and how hard you work at it. You literally need to re-learn how to use language to express your thoughts and feelings." The man paused, looking Harry in the eye, "Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, yes, he did understand. He understood exactly what was being said, and he understood how hard this was going to be. Damien squeezed his hand reassuringly. Harry turned to the man, he was so familiar. Harry _knew _him.

_Damien._ That was the man's name. Harry said it out loud, "Damien".

"Harry," came the calm, understanding reply. Harry wanted to explain that he couldn't quite grasp at how they knew each other, but couldn't see how he would do it. He understood all the concepts of his feelings, but not how they could be portrayed using words. His thoughts came in images and feelings, not words.

He lifted his free hand up to his head, resting it there for a moment, and then moved it slowly over, so his fingers rested on the older man's temple.

_I know you._

Damien smiled, in a rudimentary way, he understood the meaning of this gesture - Harry recognised that they knew each other, but couldn't remember the when's, where's, and how's.

Unsure how to respond, the priest turned to John. "How do we work on getting Harry's memory back?"

"Well, amnesia is very common amongst head injury patients, but varies a lot from each individual. Harry's memory loss seems to be very widespread, and I think probably stems more from the shock of the situation, than the head trauma itself." Addressing Harry now, the doctor went on, "I think you're memory loss is of a very short term kind; in other words, I believe your brain has simply let the pathways to you memories close off, as if the doors to them have been closed. I do not, however, think the doors have been locked."

Harry was inquisitive now, not only about the things he had forgotten, but also about how exactly the memories would be re-found. Before, he had recalled Damien's name simply from hearing it, part of him felt it would be the same for everything else. There was also a part of him that thought, if he could just remember a little bit, the rest would come back by itself.

It turned out, as John outlined his theory, that it was almost exactly as Harry had thought. The doctor believed if Harry was prompted, he would recall what he was being provoked into remembering, and that, hopefully, this would cause a chain reaction of recall.

"Okay then Harry, remember we can stop anytime you want, ready?"

Harry nodded eagerly. It was the strangest feeling, he was about to find out who he was, what he had done, where he was from, and how he came to be where he was. Things he really should know. He felt an odd mixture of excitement and nervousness as John began to talk again.

"Can you remember your surname Harry?" Asked the doctor.

_No._ A shake of the head.

"Okay. I say, your surname is either Jones, or Potter. Can you tell me which one's right Harry?"

Harry _Jones_? That didn't seem right at all, he moved past it quickly. Harry _Potter_?

Harry Potter.

_Harry James Potter._

The-Boy-Who-Lived. The bane of the Dursley's existence. The wizard. The speccy, little first year. The heir of Slytherin? The Godson of Sirius Black. The fourth champion. The murderer of Cedric Diggory. The blood that revived the Dark Lord. The coward that hid in his school. The idiot that got caught. The whore of Lord Voldemort. The _destroyer_ of Lord Voldemort. The-Boy-Who-Ran-Away.

_Fuck._

o0o

A/N Thank you to all my reviewers, without you there is no story


	26. Chapter 26

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K+ (may change)

**Disclaimer: **I can assure you that if I owned Harry Potter I would put him to much better use than a silly little story!!

**Author's Notes!PLEASE READ! **Wow, okay, I'm not really sure where to start with this, I guess a 'sorry' should come first – I have neglected this story horrifically for a very long time, and I am honestly sorry to those of you who aren't too happy about that. I lost my father in a car accident a few months ago and I'm afraid my priorities changed somewhat because of this, and writing kind of got pushed to the side. I can assure you all that I'm in the process of getting back into the swing of normal life and will update as often as I can.

I'd also like to say that I am overwhelmed by the sheer volume of reviews and PMs I got when I logged on earlier today asking me to update – it means a lot that people want to read the story that much! Thank you! I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting and promise I won't let you go that long again. Happy reading!

Chapter Twenty-Six

/// "Okay. I say, your surname is either Jones, or Potter. Can you tell me which one's right Harry?"

Harry _Jones_? That didn't seem right at all, he moved past it quickly. Harry _Potter_?

Harry Potter.

_Harry James Potter._

The-Boy-Who-Lived. The bane of the Dursley's existence. The wizard. The speccy, little first year. The heir of Slytherin? The Godson of Sirius Black. The fourth champion. The murderer of Cedric Diggory. The blood that revived the Dark Lord. The coward that hid in his school. The idiot that got caught. The whore of Lord Voldemort. The _destroyer_ of Lord Voldemort. The-Boy-Who-Ran-Away.

_Fuck. ///_

Damien Moore had witnessed some haunting things in his life, but few of which had struck him as hard as the look on Harry's face as he lay, pale and gaunt in the hospital bed, tears streaming down his face as if the remembrance of his name had hauled down a damn that had previously been holding them back. The boy had not yet acknowledged this breakthrough regarding his amnesia, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that Harry had remembered a little more than his name.

The priest was at a loss as to what to do really, conversation with the child was obviously not on the list of possibilities. So Damien just remained diligently at the boy's side, holding his hand.

The doctors had left about ten minutes ago, John saying that it was best for Harry to have some time to assimilate this new information, and that he would return later to start working Harry through his speech problems.

Slowly, the child's sobs quietened, his body stopped shuddering, and his eyes ran out of tears.

Damien raised a hand to brush the last vestiges of Harry's grief from his cheeks, though it was plain to see that even though the tears had stopped, the pain was still deeply implanted in the boy's eyes.

The priest smiled softly. "Hi," he whispered, still holding Harry's hand in his own.

Harry smiled sadly back, and whispered a forced and husky "Hi," The single word took just over a full minute for the boy to push through his lips.

Damien sighed. He could hardly comprehend that the sparkling green eyes that were currently locked with his own had been through so much. And that Harry had not once mentioned it, not once complained about the unfairness of life, the burdens he had had to carry, and the pain he had been through.

"Dear child, I am so sorry."

Harry's brow wrinkled and he opened his mouth, twisting his lips and contorting his jaw, though Damien could see that the real struggle here was internal. Not wanting to see the boy's face so stressed and dejected, he guessed the question the boy wanted to ask.

"Why?" He said, the hint of a smile in his voice as relief and remembrance washed over Harry's face. He opened his mouth again to elaborate, when Harry moved his free hand to the priest's mouth to stop him.

The boy scrunched up his eyes and opened his mouth: "Why?" He said, rather louder than intended. The boy blushed a little at this, causing Damien to laugh out loud.

Seeing the resentful yet satisfied look on Harry's face, he stopped, "Sorry," he said, "though I must say I am over the moon to see you're so enthusiastic."

Harry smiled at this, yes, he was enthusiastic. His past had just flooded over him and reminded him of all the wounds he had suffered, making them feel fresh and painful, but he had also been reminded of the fact that he had come out of it all at the other end, he had begun a new life, and he had made a new friend. He would be damned if he'd let a little problem like talking get in the way!

He stopped to consider the man he now considered to be a friend. His face was warm and kindly, even in the harsh unforgiving light of the hospital room. He loved the new life he had made with this man, he loved the church, already coming to think of it as home. He loved the simplicity of his life, and he loved the anonymity it afforded him.

Yes, he had done well for himself, despite all that had been thrown at him.

Although he couldn't help but be a little disappointed in himself for pretty much messing it all up and landing himself in hospital. Damien had even warned him about being careful on that ladder, and he had gone and fallen off anyway!

Well, next time he'd be a lot more careful and make sure to keep his balance. What had prompted him to go spinning around on it anyway? He remembered Damien calling him, and then falling. He guessed it must have been turning to face the priest that had caused him to lose his balance. Perhaps this was why the man was now apologising. This reminded Harry that Damien was explaining his apology, so he turned his attention back to the man at his bedside, feeling a little guilty that he had let his mind wander and stopped paying attention.

"…I never would have let that man within a mile of us if I had known he would provoke such a reaction in you. But if I'm honest Harry, he does seem genuinely worried for you and remorseful for his past actions."

Harry blinked. _What?_

"He told me about you y'know," the priest continued, his voice almost apologetic, "I hope you don't mind."

Harry was thoroughly confused now, and more then a little worried at what the implications of Damien's words might be.

"Harry, I can understand why you didn't tell me about your past, I can't even begin to comprehend what you've been through, but just so that you know, I will never judge you for it, and I will always be here for you to talk to." The man smiled, "When you've regained the power of speech that is!"

Damien must have noticed the discomfort in Harry's face for he continued in a rather hurried and repentant tone, "I'm sorry if you feel I've intruded Harry, but to be honest after seeing your reaction to him I wanted to know what it was about this Dumbledore fellow that shocked you so much. I hope you can understand that. Harry?"

Harry had turned as white as the sheets that enveloped him.

_Dumbledore._

Dumbledore had been there, in the church. He had found him.

And now Damien knew everything.

Why was the man even still here? He must be disgusted that the boy who he had trusted, who he had _taken into his home_, had kept such terrible and tainted secrets from him.

Harry pulled his hand from the priest's, completely mortified and filled with self-disgust. He shifted beneath the sheets, hauling himself onto his other side so he faced away form the man at his bedside.

"Harry?"

No response.

"Harry please," Damien got up and walked around to bed to look Harry in the face.

"I am so sorry I've intruded into your life like this, but I was just so worried. If I could take it back I would; please don't be angry with me."

Harry was shocked, the man wasn't sickened by the revelation of Harry's past, of course he wasn't Harry realised, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting at the boy's side at all.

He wanted to open his mouth and tell the man he wasn't angry.

But he didn't. He didn't even try.

The priest may not want to disown him because of the revelation of his past, but he still knew it, knew everything that Harry had done: all the stupidity and cowardice.

He couldn't stay with this man now. He couldn't live with someone who would look at him every day and see all the terrible things he had done.

This was just so unfair. Everything had been so perfect before, and now this.

Suddenly he didn't want to talk anymore, didn't want to explain himself. Damien knew too much, way too much. He had spoken to Dumbledore.

Oh god, _Dumbledore_. Was he here to? In the hospital? Back at the church?

Surely he wouldn't just leave now that he had found Harry, he would want to make Harry go back to Hogwarts, to his 'friends'.

No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't go back, ever.

And so he didn't open his mouth, didn't speak, didn't try. He closed his eyes and shut out the man before him, shut out the cruelty of the situation around him.

"Harry?" Came the uncertain whisper from Damien.

"Harry… I'm sorry." Harry could hear them man's voice breaking, and knew that if he opened his eyes he would see him crying. He felt a hand touch the side of his face and whipped his own up to push it away, to push _him _away, shaking his head and scrunching up his face.

"Okay," Came the utterly dejected and depressed voice of the priest. "I'll go, but please Harry, forgive me, I never meant to go behind your back."

The sound of the man apologising again was killing Harry inside, he wanted to grab him and tell him it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't angry, that it was all Harry's own fault. But he couldn't, the man knew too much.

So he lay and listened as the man stood and crossed the room, stopped to say that he would be just outside if Harry changed his mind, and left; closing the door softly behind him, leaving his young charge to cry his sorry heart out for the loss of the innocence and refuge he thought he had found, that had been torn away in the blink of an eye.

A/N More to come ASAP


	27. Chapter 27

**To Sleep is an Act of Faith**

**Summary: **The war is over, but where is Harry Potter? The wizarding world has almost given up hope of finding their saviour, but Harry is now the one that needs saving; can an unsuspecting muggle help?

**Rating: **K (may change)

**Disclaimer**Non mei.

**Author's Notes: **As ever I am sorry for the wait and eternally grateful to those who have kept with it this long and left such lovely messages and reviews. Thank you.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It was several hours after Damien had left the room when Harry finally fell back into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of rejection, hopelessness, and pain.

When he awoke, it was to the stinging shock of sunlight streaming through the window of his room. A nurse dressed in a light blue uniform had opened the blinds, and was now proceeding to check the myriad of machines that surrounded Harry's bed, all the while chatting away to him in that false chirpy voice used when you're trying hard not to show someone just how much you pity them.

Harry didn't even bother listening to what she was saying, no doubt it was utterly irrelevant, and to be honest – he just didn't care any more. It was like all the purpose and control he had regained over the past weeks had been sucked out of him, leaving an empty space that pulled all motivation from his mind and left him nothing but a burnt out husk.

After several minutes of bustling about the room that had been assigned to Harry, the nurse left. Harry revelled in the peace that filled the room once she had gone; all he wanted was to be alone, not with Damien, not with Dumbledore, not with doctors. Just alone, where he could do his own thing, not constantly being pushed around by people who thought they knew what was best for him.

He wished he had never met Damien, never gone to stay with him in the first place; but instantly regretted it. It wasn't fair for him to blame the priest, he had been nothing but kind and respectful to Harry, this wasn't his fault.

How had this happened? How had Dumbledore found him? Well, he supposed it didn't matter how, the long and the short of it was that his secret life was not so secret any more, and the thought of what would happen to him now that he had been found scared him more than anything.

He found that when he turned his thoughts towards Dumbledore, fear was not the only emotion that struck him. The mere thought of the man who so fiercely represented his past life was enough to make anger bubble in his stomach and rage clasp at his core. The pain of his memories was almost unbearable, and with such a strong reminder as Albus Dumbledore walking through his mind, he found he couldn't lock it up out of harms way.

And so he lay almost completely still for an undeterminable amount of time, pain, fear and anger all silently raging, just below the surface.

o0o

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore had been intensely pacing up and down the relatives room of Limerick Hospital for what he was sure must have been hours now. He just didn't know what to make of this massively unexpected turn of events. He didn't know what to do.

Harry was alive, that much was very clear. Which meant he had obviously survived whatever machinations Voldemort had subjected him to, which was perhaps not necessarily a good thing.

But what did it mean? What was he supposed to do? Harry may be alive, but he didn't seem to have made any attempt to return to Hogwarts and his friends. Though this might be due to the fact that he had been stranded without a wand, maybe he simply hadn't been able to make contact with the people he had left behind? However, much as he would have liked to believe this, he didn't really believe that Harry wouldn't have been able to find some way of getting in contact with them if he had wanted to.

Which lead Albus to the inescapable conclusion that Harry did not want to return, and when he considered it, he could quite understand why the boy might want to avoid them. Seventeen years old and he had seen more cruelty and experienced more pain than most men did in a lifetime.

But could Albus just leave him here? Surely the best thing for the boy was for him to be around the people who could really understand what he had been though? And surely the best people for that job were the ones who loved him, and had done so for the past six years?

But if Harry had chosen to stay here…?

Albus sighed and dropped tiredly into one of the chairs that lined the walls of the room. He would speak with the boy, and then make a decision; besides, there was a hell of a lot they needed to say to each other, even without the added complication of what Harry's future was to be.

And so the old man, feeling ever older with each step he took, made his way through the clean smelling corridors until he came to the ward where Harry was staying. He asked at the desk where Harry could be found, and made his way to the room he was directed to.

Upon finding the door marked 'Adolescent C', he paused to observe the man sitting outside it.

Damien Moore obviously to care for Harry very much, and it seemed he had shown the boy much kindness throughout the short time they had known each other.

Albus lowered himself into the chair next to where the other man sat, the movement rousing him from his obviously hard come by sleep.

Damien rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and upon noticing the person sitting by him, turned to face the other man.

"Hi," he said, tears and sleep making his voice sound rusty and unused.

"Hello," Albus replied, "How is he?"

"Physically, he seems to be doing okay, he has some kind of problem which has affected his ability to speak, but the doctors assure me that this is something that can be overcome with time and effort. Mentally… well, how would _you _feel?"

"He's upset then?"

"_Upset!?_ Of course he's bloody upset!" Damien raged, not bothering to apologise for the profanity. "Just when he starts to feel safe around me – I go behind his back and dig around in things that he consciously _chose_ not to tell me! Just when he starts to feel safe and separate from the life he's been tortured by for the past however long it is - _you_ turn up and bring it all crashing down around him! Just when he's begun to heal physically from the trauma that's plagued him – he's shoved back into a hospital, the ability to express himself completely taken away from him! Yes, I think we can safely say he's a tad _upset_ by all this."

Albus let his head drop a little in acceptance of this chastisement, knowing he deserved worse for what he and directly and indirectly subjected Harry to over the past years.

A short silence dropped over the two men, ad they acknowledged to themselves the ways that they had wronged the boy who lay hurting in the room behind them.

Albus was the first to speak.

"What did you say is wrong with his speech?"

Damien sighed, running his hands over his face, "There was some damage to the passages in his brain or something, anyway, it means he's sort of, _forgotten_ how to speak. Or not _how_ to speak so much, as which words to use, it's like, he's lost the ability to choose which words to say to express what he means. I think."

Albus nodded, "Has he said anything at all?"

"Yes, he thanked one of the doctors who helped him last night, and he said 'why' to me earlier today. He seems quite determined to get back to normal. Or at least he _did_."

Albus looked at him questioningly.

The priest sighed again, "He's angry with me, I told him I had spoken with you and that I knew about his history, and he just closed up on me. It's obvious he feels I've intruded on what little privacy he had."

Albus frowned, "It doesn't sound like him, to be angry with you I mean. Although the last day or so has done nothing if not prove that I do not know Harry Potter half as well as I thought I did."

Their conversation paused again for several minutes, once again to be broken by Albus.

"Would you mind id I went in and spoke to him?"

Damien recognised that the older man was showing recognition for his relationship with Harry by asking his permission, and much as he wanted to protect Harry from the person who had started all this trouble, he realised that he could not keep them apart forever. Dumbledore had shown no malicious intent towards the boy, and Damien had no real authority to keep the man away.

He nodded slowly, "I'm waiting right out here, so if you hurt him…" He stopped, unsure what the end of that sentence was, but Dumbledore seemed to understand. He nodded, stood, and walked over to the door to Harry's room, where he paused slightly, before turning the handle to go in.

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A/N I'm sorry this stops here but I think this is all I'll get out of myself today and I figured you'd probably rather have that little bit than wait ages for my inspiration to find itself. Hope you enjoyed it even if not much transpired, thank you for reading.


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